Sweet Child of Mine
by blue.rose.spobette
Summary: She had been his best friend his entire life. It had never been more, had never been less. But when he discovers after years of being apart that she has endured hardship and abuse after leaving Rosewood, his perception of her begins to drastically change. SPOBY. FRIENDSHIP/ROMANCE. AU. Also lots of Spason sibling content.
1. Prologue

_**A/N:** Hey y'all. Just a little something I've been working on. I don't plan on having it be as long as most of my works are - maybe 10 chapters at most. But I've had the itch to write it for a while, and I have almost 40 pages of it done already, just from working on it today. It's a lot different from what I'm used to, so bear with me as I find my bearings. _

_Just a little additional background: This story is AU, but will feature familiar faces. If you feel like some people are out of character, it's because doing AU gives me license to do so. _

_I'll be posting Chapter One shortly after this. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**PROLOGUE**

...

_She's got a smile that it seems to me_

_Reminds me of childhood memories_

_Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky_

_Now and then when I see her face_

_It takes me away to that special place_

_And if I stare too long_

_I'd probably break down and cry_

_Oh sweet child 'o mine_

_Oh sweet love of mine_

_("Sweet Child 'O Mine" - Guns 'N Roses)_

* * *

True love was a myth.

It was something reserved solely for the purpose of enticing women to buy movie tickets for romantic comedies and single-handedly break box office records. A viable excuse for men to achieve sexual conquests, under the pretense that one single woman was more satisfying than others. A concept created by Hallmark companies to fool people into thinking they were happy, oblivious to the fact that they were consumed by a simple overdrive of chemical reactions.

A clever, manmade ploy to keep people from realizing that their lives were worthless and miserable. It was a reason to persevere – to continue fighting for something that they thought would make them feel at peace.

But it was nothing but a mirage. A daily hallucination that drove people to the brink of insanity. Just another stupid, idiotic belief system for people to invest themselves in. It was no different than religion – and was perhaps the craziest, strongest religion to ever infiltrate the masses.

It could not be proven. Could not be seen, heard, or felt. There was no tangible evidence that it even existed outside of meaningless brain scans. Scans that only served to prove that a person's neurons were randomly firing chemical signals as a reaction to feelings of infatuation. Lust. Possessiveness. The primitive drive to procreate.

And most cunning of all, it was passed off as a societal expectation.

He had watched his parents subject themselves to a miserable marriage his entire life, consenting to stay together for the sole purpose of keeping the family unit in tact. They hadn't even slept in the same bedroom since he was young enough to still crawl under the covers with them after a particularly horrific nightmare.

He had never believed in love. To him, its illusory qualities were undeniable. The idea was as natural to him as the concept of breathing.

He never dreamed that he would see the day that his world turned on its axis and caused him to rethink everything he had ever believed. Put a tailspin on his entire existence, pulling the rug out from under him and relishing as he fell unceremoniously on his ass.

One broken, helpless girl was all it took to change everything he had ever known. A girl that, once upon a time, had been feminine enough to wear flowers in her hair, but tomboy enough to take him down in flag football. A girl who had once danced on the hood of his car in the high school parking lot, simply because he was playing her favorite song. A girl that had shown him what it felt like to bare his soul.

A chance meeting – an unexpected reunion – and everything he knew ceased to exist. She was all it took to prove to him that what he thought – what he had felt for so long – was more wrong than he could have ever imagined.


	2. Such A Sweet Hello

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 1**

It was springtime in Philadelphia. The symbolism of the season change was humbling year after year, serving to remind Toby Cavanaugh just how much he had missed the presence of life and growth around him. The change in temperature put a spring in his step, and the blue skies overhead brought him inexplicable peace. He had always been secretly fond of the fresh scent of flowers blooming along the line of storefronts downtown. Appreciated no other wakeup call more than the birds singing during the wee hours of morning.

It marked a season of rebirth. It meant new beginnings. New adventures. New excuses to be alive. The ability to make the most of his life and find the silver linings he so warmly cherished.

And for this very reason, he had a persistent habit of looking forward to the weekend this time of year. His focus was undeniably best during winter months, when it was dark before he even clocked out. During the warm seasons, however, he couldn't wait to be outside once more. It was like having Senioritis all over again.

He lived for Fridays, and always had. It marked the end of the professional week, and the start of some grand, elaborate adventure. When he was a child, it usually meant Friday night lineups on television or some kind of exciting Boy Scout event.

And as an adult, it was no different. Though it would get old fast for most people, he loved the ability to go out with his friends on and just enjoy the time off. It was something he looked forward to, and his reasoning was so much different than most people he knew – it wasn't about running _from_ something, but _toward_ something. It wasn't about escaping work or taking his mind off of his daily life. It was about doing something that made him feel alive.

If you asked him whether he enjoyed his job his answer would have been simple: "Sure. Why shouldn't I enjoy doing something I'm good at?"

And he _was_ good at it. He had been tinkering with cars his entire life, and at the ripe age of 22, it felt like the right career path to get him through college. Business school, of course. He had pipe dreams of opening a bar someday with a couple of his co-workers.

That was the other thing – Toby loved the people he worked with. Working as a mechanic in a dealership had its ups and downs, but he had always enjoyed meeting new people from all different walks of life. He had friends in every department – sales, financing, maintenance – and they made every day that much more bearable.

But somehow – even despite all of his gratitude for being in a place that he loved – he was still itching to be free at 5:00 every Friday afternoon. Maybe it was the fact that he was still so in touch with his inner child. Perhaps it had more to do with being an adult and relishing that valuable time to himself to recharge. Either way, he always knew that the weekend would bring something new and interesting, and would grant him with endless stories to tell everyone when he came back Monday morning.

And today – this particular Friday – would be no exception to that rule. It was the night of his fellow mechanic's bachelor party. Caleb had been engaged to his high school girlfriend, Hanna, for nearly two years now – and the countdown to wedding bells was fast approaching.

So when the time struck 5:00 and everyone raced to clock out, that familiar feeling of Friday relief washed over him like a fresh shower. Caleb joined him at the punching station, wiping the grease from his hands with a dirty rag as he approached.

"T-minus four hours," Toby quipped happily, clapping Caleb on the back. "You excited?"

Though Caleb's American Indian complexion was rather dark, Toby swore he saw a blush rise in his cheeks. "I guess I don't have a choice," he chuckled. "I don't know how I let Noel talk me into a strip club."

"It's all in good fun," Toby offered. "Does Hanna know?"

"No-o-o-o," Caleb stated brashly, shaking his head back and forth so fiercely that his wild chin-length hair fluttered around his face. "And she's never going to. As far as she's concerned, we're going to the casino."

Toby laughed as he replaced his timesheet in the proper slot on the wall, stepping aside so Caleb could do the same. "Ah, good old-fashioned dishonesty," he mused teasingly. "What a beautiful way to start off a marriage."

Caleb jabbed at Toby's gut in retaliation, which the latter leapt backwards to evade.

"Who all is coming?" he asked laughingly as he held the door open for both of them to exit.

"You. Me. Noel. Ezra…his brother Wesley – you know, the one he brought with him to the engagement party? And Emily, of course."

Emily was the front-desk receptionist, and Caleb's cousin. They had grown up together and were much closer than most cousins regard one another. He always spoke highly of her, and more often than not referred to her as his 'best friend' before 'cousin.' It wasn't necessarily considered traditional to have a female on the groom's side of the wedding party, but Caleb had made it clear to Hanna that it was one tradition he was adamant about breaking.

"Emily? At a strip club?" Toby demanded, perplexed.

Caleb rolled his eyes. "To be honest, she's probably more excited for this than I am."

Toby chuckled. "I'll never forget when I found out she was gay. Back when Ben Coogan still worked here."

Caleb snapped his fingers as the memory came back to him. "And he kept trying to get her to go out with him…"

"…And then she called him out in front of everyone at that staff meeting, and practically shrieked down the entire block that she was a lesbian."

Caleb was smiling broadly at the recollection. He was likely picturing Ben's expression of self-loathing that ensued after the altercation.

"Yeah. He quit the next day, didn't he?"

Toby grinned. "Wouldn't you?"

They were halfway across the parking lot to their cars when Caleb was nearly sent careening into a Volvo – Noel had leapt onto his back and was hooting and hollering into the sky.

"Bachelor party!" he cried excitedly, hopping down after a beat to jog around to Caleb's front. He walked backwards to face him as he talked. "Last night of real freedom. Better enjoy it while it lasts, bro."

Caleb rolled his eyes good-naturedly, none-too-gently pushing Noel out of his way. "If I knew what was good for me, I wouldn't be doing this at all, you know."

Ezra had joined them at some point in the middle of the tussle, slinging an arm around Noel's shoulders. He waved his free hand at Caleb dismissively. "That's the wife talking. Don't worry – you're going to have a blast."

"And get blast_ed_," Toby quipped helpfully, miming the action of tipping back shots.

Caleb chuckled in spite of himself as he unearthed his keys from his pocket. "This is all well and good for the three of you. You're _single_. You don't have to worry about answering to someone at the end of the night."

"If you're trying to make me feel bad, it won't work," Noel declared. "I love being single. I have no regrets." Ezra low-fived him in agreement.

"And you, Tobes?" Caleb inquired, pointing his car key in his friend's direction. "You like playing the field?"

It was a loaded question, if Toby was being honest. He had never been the hopeless romantic type that Caleb epitomized. In fact, he was leery of the concept of love in general. Part of him may have liked to find someone to connect with someday – like Caleb could with Hanna. But the other part was well aware that anything he started would be short-lived, based on his unpopular opinion about marriage being a waste of time.

And thankfully, he was let off the hook from answering by Ezra, who had Caleb trapped in the crook of his elbow, delivering a fierce noogie to the top of his head.

"We're just messing with you, man. You know that we're happy for you."

Caleb twisted his way out of the headlock, fighting to correct the mess that Ezra had made of his hair. "You have a great way of showing it," he said flatly.

Toby chuckled in reply, watching as Caleb lowered himself into his car.

"I'll see you at 9:00 sharp. Don't be late. There is not a single part of me that wants to show up to that place by myself."

"Nine o'clock sharp," Toby confirmed, providing his friend with a mock salute. Caleb rolled his eyes dramatically.

"You better be there," he warned before shutting the door to signal the end of the conversation.

Ezra was parked right next to him and was settling into the driver seat, Noel following suit on the other side. He lowered the window to bid farewell to Toby. "See you later, Cavanaugh."

He waved a half-hearted goodbye and continued on his way, in no particular hurry. The sun was warm and the sky was bright. The weather was absolutely perfect, and he didn't mind allowing it to soak in.

It was Friday, after all. And he was determined, as usual, to make the most of it.

Once in his car, Toby headed for the coffee shop down the road – a routine that was long-standing since starting his job at the dealership. Ten-hour workdays were no small feat, and caffeine was about the only thing that was capable of keeping him going as he got older.

He was at the counter, placing his usual order, when something surprisingly _un_usual happened. The girl that stood a few feet from him caught his eye, for a reason he could not discern. She was tall and quite thin, with long, curly brown hair that reached halfway down her torso. She had toffee-colored eyes that jarred something within him – something he could not quite put his finger on.

The oddest part was that she was surveying him, too. He felt rather self-conscious for a moment, about to ask her if they knew one another, when something lit up on her face.

"Toby?" she asked in alarm.

It was her voice that tipped him off in the end. That familiar, endearingly raspy tone of hers. He was suddenly recalling walkie-talkies and flashlight Morse code across the expanse of shared yard space between their houses. Play dates on the playground at the park, making mud pies. Playing school. She was always the teacher – he was always the student. And after comparing report cards, it was little surprise as to why.

"Spencer?" he replied with equal surprise, studying her once more with new perspective. She had certainly grown up, but now that he could place her face properly, he saw that her key features had changed very little in the early years of adulthood.

She was squeezing through people now to reach him, practically leaping into his arms in an enthusiastic hug. He returned the embrace, delighting in the vanilla coconut scent of her shampoo.

When she pulled back, she regarded him with a grin, rubbing his upper arms affectionately. "How have you been? I haven't seen you since graduation!"

"Good. Things have been good," he said, using the one hand on her lower back to guide her toward a quieter part of the café. "Going to school part time, working as a mechanic."

Her smile was just as dazzling as it had always been, and Toby was reminded of a movie star. "Good for you! You've always been great with cars."

"And you?" he urged. "I thought you were going to Yale or some fancy pants college after high school?"

Her smile faltered, but only for a brief second. She offered a half-hearted shrug in reply. "Yeah, I uh…I had a change of heart."

"It happens," he agreed lightly, hoping to deflect any discomfort she may have felt. He may have been imagining things, but he could have sworn that her eyes sparkled in gratitude.

"Hey – so – my parents told me your folks are putting the house up for sale."

He nodded thoughtfully, remembering all of the ambivalent feelings that had accompanied this announcement. "Yeah. With Jenna and me out on our own, they said they don't need the space anymore. They're planning to get a condo in the city."

"That must be hard," she said sympathetically. "Saying goodbye to the house you grew up in."

"Yeah," he agreed, "but I know it's what they want. And need."

"Right. And look at it this way – now another little boy will have the chance to grow up there and make a life for himself in Rosewood."

It was a simple statement, but it resonated within him warmly. Her spin on it was much more heart-felt than anything his parents had said.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's true."

"So where are you living now?" she inquired.

"Apartment on the west side of town," he said. "You?"

She smiled sheepishly. "You're looking at it."

Perplexed, he glanced over each shoulder, trying to interpret her meaning. She laughed softly at his confusion.

"I mean – the loft upstairs. Above the coffee house."

"Oh. Well that's convenient," he quipped. "This is the greatest coffee in town, and it's only a hop, skip, and a jump away."

There was a beat of silence in which she looked him up and down once more, smiling broadly all-the-while. She was much prettier than he remembered. "It's…really good to see you," she said quietly.

Her smile was somehow contagious. He could feel his face getting sore. "You too." He paused, and then dipped into his wallet to grab a business card. "Here – here's my number. Call me. Let's get together soon."

She looked it over and peeked at him from beneath her dark lashes, waving the card proudly in the space between them. "Mr. Big Shot with his own business cards, huh?"

He wasn't positive, but he would have bet money that he had started to blush. "My work has them made out for all of us."

"Ah, I see," she said coyly, a glimmer of a smirk still grazing her lips. She began to back up, her hips sashaying in a way that was surprisingly much more feminine than he ever remembered her being. "All right. I'll call you."

"Okay," he replied pathetically. "Talk to you soon."

She threw one last radiant smile at him from over her shoulder, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

He stood there, flabbergasted, for a few moments to gather his bearings. Spencer Hastings was his best friend all through childhood and through most of high school. They had only stopped hanging out for one reason, and one reason only – Ian Thomas, the captain of the football team. She had started dating him, and he wasn't fond of the fact that she had a boy as a best friend. He recalled nearly getting into a knockdown, drag-out fight with him at junior prom when Ian had caught them dancing. The jock had had too much spiked punch and was clearly feeling moodier than normal. They drifted considerably after that, to keep Ian's feelings in tact, and remained only occasionally in touch via social media.

But one thing was for sure – he had never looked at her like _that _before. Not even in the eleventh grade at that very same dance, when she was dolled up in that scarlet-colored form-fitting gown.

He shrugged it off as he went back out to his car, rationalizing that it had just been so long since he had seen her that he was surprised at the changes. Maybe it even had something to do with the fact that he hadn't been laid in God knows how long. Either way, the fleeting attraction was unacceptable in more ways than he could count.

He thought about her all the way home. It wasn't until he got inside and turned on the television that his mind started to clear, and eventually, Spencer Hastings slipped from his head once more.


	3. Got A War In My Mind

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 2**

He was on time – early even – to the strip club, just as promised. He had no trouble finding it, its neon lights flashing in all their glory. It was on the outskirts of town, off the beaten path from casual passersby.

When he got there, he found that Caleb had been sulking outside, none-too-eager to proceed.

"This is dumb," he repeated over and over again, as if saying it several times would make it sink in for the others. They ignored him, of course.

They made their way inside, finding that Ezra had reserved a long table at the front of the club specifically for them.

"Pretty Little Dancers?" Emily demanded disgustedly as she took her seat. "It sounds like the name of a children's ballet studio."

"I didn't pick the name. Just the location," Noel declared, attempting to wave a waitress down to order drinks.

Toby took an opportunity to look around the room. It was a rather small establishment – smaller than most clubs of this nature that he had been to. The stage itself took up almost half of the room all on its own. Despite its size, however, the room was packed with people. There were several middle-aged men in suits congregated at the back of the room, looking as though they owned the place. They seemed to be chummy with the waitresses, laughing and talking animatedly. He had the sudden, distinct impression that this was the typical setting of their business meetings.

Emily was the only girl, which didn't really surprise him. She was already receiving double-take glances from several patrons, to which she was absolutely oblivious.

"I agree with Emily. There's something twisted about the name," Caleb muttered. "Can't we just go somewhere else?"

"We have front row seats!" Ezra cried, aghast. "This is prime real estate!"

"You're a party pooper, dude," Wesley agreed, shaking Caleb by the shoulder. Caleb allowed himself to be limply wriggled back and forth by the younger man, a scowl apparent on his face. "Lighten up. Have some fun."

"I'm sorry," Caleb began, his voice thick with sarcasm, "I can't stop thinking about my fiancé at home, who thinks I'm just out blowing money right now like a normal person."

"We can arrange that," Noel said laughingly, reaching across Wesley to grab Caleb's wallet from the table. He waved it around triumphantly. "You can pay for all the drinks!"

"No. Not what I meant," Caleb grumbled, snatching it back unceremoniously as the waitress returned with the drinks Ezra had ordered.

"It's fine, Cay," Emily chirped, ruffling his hair affectionately from his other side. "The fact that you feel so guilty just means you're going to make a great husband."

He sighed dramatically, looking at his watch. "All right, when does this start? Let's get it over with."

"You really are being a buzz kill," Toby quipped, pushing a Jägerbomb down the table in Caleb's direction. "At least _attempt _to have some fun."

Caleb didn't need to be told twice; he was already downing the shot before Toby could even finish his sentence.

"Thattaboy."

The lights began to dim, and the crowd of men in the back started cat calling.

"Charming," Emily groaned with a roll of her eyes. Toby grinned at her.

"You know what they say about horny old men."

Caleb pulled a face, reaching for another shot glass. "What? What do they say?"

Toby shrugged, realizing he hadn't really thought it through. "That they're horny," he declared matter-of-factly.

Emily laughed so hard that she snorted, and then covered up her mouth sheepishly. The other five guffawed in response.

The first dancer had made her way on stage, much to the delight of the business tycoons in the back of the room. Her provocative police costume left very little to the imagination, but that was, after all, the idea. She pulled out a nightstick prop and was beginning to make suggestive gestures with it, to which Toby couldn't help but chuckle amusedly.

He leaned back in his seat and glanced over Emily and toward Caleb, who seemed to be lightening up considerably as he tipped back a cherry bomb. Wesley was cheering loudly, waving a dollar bill in the air with such zeal that it became glaringly obvious it was his first time. The stripper crawled seductively across the stage to him, grabbing it in her teeth.

Caleb laughed and clapped in spite of his earlier chagrin. It probably helped that he had already taken three shots and finished half a beer, and was certainly feeling the effects of the alcohol by now.

"This is fun," Emily said to Toby, her voice full of pleasant surprise. "I thought it would be trashy, but it's not half bad."

Toby laughed in reply, clapping with the rest of the room as the dancer exited the stage.

A few more dancers and a lot more alcohol in, and Caleb was having a grand old time. He even consented to shoving a dollar bill in one of the stripper's bras, and then looked humorously surprised at his own forwardness. Wesley clapped him on the back, as if congratulating him.

"You're becoming a man!" Ezra agreed over the music, sliding a beer in Caleb's direction. He took it gladly.

"And now for the main event!" the announcer declared. "Introducing the beautiful – the sexy – Vivian Darkbloom!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. Even Toby was clapping wildly, despite the fact that he had no idea what to expect. The alcohol was worming its way through his system, and he was feeling rather good. He didn't frequent strip joints – had only gone a couple of times early on in college – but he was quickly remembering why they had been so much fun in the first place.

The lights dimmed as Vivian stepped out onto the stage, her back to the audience. The ever-persistent group of men in the back were hollering enthusiastically, and for a moment it felt more like a concert than a strip show.

And then the music started and the lights came up on the platform. She turned to face the audience, and –

Toby's mouth suddenly went dry.

"Oh, my God," he breathed, so quietly that he was surprised when all of the heads at the front table turned to him. He truthfully had no idea how they had heard him over the music.

It was Spencer.

Suddenly, as if flipping a switch, he was stone cold sober.

She was breathtaking. There was certainly no doubt about that. Any healthy, all-American male would be unable to deny it as she wrapped one leg around the pole and slid across it like a goddess. The curls of her ebony-colored wig flew out wildly behind her as she circled around, and it reminded Toby of watching long hair cascading underwater. The magnificent red lights danced across her features, catching the ivory glow of her complexion in a way that only highlighted the smooth planes of her skin. The upper curvature of her breasts became glaringly apparent as she shimmied, and –

No! No! No!

He had to get a hold of himself. And fast.

She was beautiful. But sitting here and watching her – staring at her like a Neanderthal – felt so incredibly wrong. He was suddenly aware of the cheers echoing all around him and the eyes so glued to her figure that they looked ready to pop out of people's skulls. He looked around at all the men tipping their drinks in her direction, oblivious to the fact that she did not belong up there.

He felt sick.

"Here we go!" Noel declared excitedly as he gulped his beer. Toby was perplexed at first, but upon looking back at the stage he realized what Noel was cheering about.

Spencer was slowly undoing the laces of her corset, her hips swaying precariously to the inordinately loud music. She was taking her time, but it didn't matter – this song was only so long.

Within moments, she was going to be topless.

"I – I have to go," Toby announced brashly, standing and pushing his way behind the chairs of his companions. He nearly knocked Caleb's drink out of his hand in the process.

"Where are you going?" he asked worriedly, reaching out to grab Toby's forearm to stay him. This only perpetuated Toby's panic further – he needed to slip out without her noticing him.

"I need some air."

"Hey you! Down in front!" someone cried impatiently from the back. A collective '_boo_'-ing ensued as they wildly tried to wave Toby away.

And that was all it took. She had nearly finished her task of disrobing her upper body when her eyes fell on him in the crowd. There was a brief moment in which time stopped – his gaze met hers, and something flickered across her face. Fear. Embarrassment. Shame. All of the above. She looked for a moment as though she were about to cry.

He was certain that the memories were inundating her as they were him, a rapid succession of visual reminders of just how long they had known one another. He was experiencing images of her gracefully swan-diving into the Hastings pool…Playing Scrabble…Sitting innocently on the couch with a tub of popcorn as they engaged in their bi-monthly _Harry Potter_ movie marathon.

But whatever expression had crossed her face was gone as soon as it had arrived. This was her job – and he was well aware that his presence was not enough to cost her tonight's pay. After only a brief moment of hesitation, she continued what she was doing.

Toby averted his eyes and bee-lined for the door. In the instant that the cool breeze of the night air hit his arms, he felt his heart rate decrease considerably. Leaning against the building and exhaling heavily, he tried to desperately erase what he had just seen.

He had never admittedly understood the old adage about every stripper being someone's daughter. Had never really had to fathom the idea of an erotic dancer being anything other than a stranger providing entertainment to the masses.

But now – now he had a much clearer idea of it than he had ever wanted. And it was a nauseating feeling.

"Toby?"

He turned to see Emily coming through the doors, her cardigan sweater pulled tight around her frame. Though it was spring in Philadelphia, the nighttime temperature had not yet conceded to increase. Watching her shudder in slight reminded him of how cold he probably _should_ have been, but wasn't.

"Are you all right?"

He ran his hands tiredly over his face, wondering how on earth a person was meant to explain a situation such as this.

"'M fine," he muttered. "I just – I know her."

"You mean?…" Emily trailed off, gesturing back inside. Luckily she didn't need him to elaborate; he nodded quietly to confirm. "How?"

He stared off into the distance, watching as a Prius ran a red light down the street. The blaring of horns that followed echoed in the still night air, and served to knock him from his reverie.

"We grew up next door to each other. I've known her since we were in diapers."

She raised her eyebrows, as if uncertain how to respond. "Wow," she breathed at last, for lack of anything more profound to say.

"Yeah." He sighed heavily, lowering himself into a sitting position on the brick outcropping of a nearby window.

After only a moment of hesitation, Emily came to join him, placing a comforting hand on his knee. "It's hard for people these days. You know?"

It was a simple thing to say, with endless possibilities for interpretation. He wasn't sure which one she was getting at, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

"Yeah. Sure," he murmured noncommittally. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the bumping and blaring of the subwoofers inside the bar. Spencer's act was clearly over – a different song was playing now. But it didn't matter. He wouldn't have gone back in there for anything.

"Do you need me to give you a lift home?" Emily asked kindly.

He turned to look at her, silently grateful for her generous expression and soulful chocolate-colored eyes. They had grown close in recent months, and she was easily the nicest person he had ever met.

"No," he said softly, squeezing the hand she had placed on his knee to indicate that he'd be all right. "I'm going to take a cab."

She nodded, and after a beat stood up. "Call me if you need anything, all right?"

He attempted to smile in her direction. He was sure it came off as looking more like a grimace than anything else. If she noticed, she didn't call him out on it – she was already making her way back inside.

He sat there for some indiscernible length of time that felt like hours. Nobody else came outside to check on him – surely Emily had told them he was leaving. Probably had made up some excuse for him that was far less embarrassing than the actual reasoning behind his disappearance. It was something she would do – and he felt inexplicably thankful for her tact.

When the club began emptying, he chose to make himself scarce. He wandered around the back of the building, hoping a few more moments of solitude would assist him in gathering his bearings enough to drive home.

He was lost in his thoughts when the backdoor opened. It was her – and she looked utterly perplexed at his presence blocking her escape route. She was dressed much more modestly now in a simple t-shirt and jeans, her hair pulled into a lazy plait at the nape of her neck. This was more like her – the girl he had known his entire life. This was how she was _supposed_ to look – poised and collected without even trying. Not slathered in gratuitous amounts of makeup and scanty clothing that barely qualified as lingerie.

"What are you doing here?" she asked flatly. Any semblance of the happiness she had expressed upon seeing him at the café earlier was long gone. She was pushing roughly past him to make her way down the length of the alley.

"What am _I_ doing here?" he demanded, pivoting on the spot to follow her. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"It's really none of your business, Toby," she muttered disdainfully as she approached her car. She was fumbling in the depths of her purse, avoiding his gaze all-the-while.

"You – you don't belong up there," he insisted pathetically. She acted as though she hadn't heard, continuing the quest to find her keys. Frustrated, he pulled on her elbow to spin her around. "Spencer, this isn't _you_."

She scoffed, yanking her arm away roughly. "How would you know? You haven't spoken to me in years."

The comment stung as though he had been slapped, but he surged on nonetheless. "That wasn't on purpose, Spence – it was just – with you and Ian – "

"Don't," she pleaded hoarsely, her face scrunching up slightly in despair. Quickly, she turned back to her car, holding the keys in one trembling hand. "Don't do this right now."

"Do what?" he demanded, perhaps more harshly than intended. "Look out for you?"

"It's not your job anymore, Toby," she eked out, barely audible through the lump in her throat. She was lowering herself into her car, slamming the door shut to put distance between them.

"Spencer," he said brashly, slapping his palm on the window desperately. "Spencer!"

Without even so much as glancing at him, she was flooring it in reverse. With a squeal of her tires, she was out of the parking lot and out in the street. He pathetically watched as she drove away, his adrenaline pumping more furiously than he had ever felt. He was tempted to follow her, but knew it was out of the question: they both needed time to process what had happened. If he pushed her too soon, she would shut him out in an instant. And then he may never have a prayer of getting back in.

So instead he stalked back to his car. He wasn't sure how long he sat catatonically in the driver seat, mindlessly listening to the radio and trying to make sense of what he had seen and what he would do next.

And when at long last he threw his truck into 'drive' and made his way back to his apartment, he found that he was no closer to figuring it out. Not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow.

But it wasn't going to stop him from trying.


	4. Small-Town Girl Living in a Lonely World

_**A/N:** Hey everyone! Glad you're enjoying it so far. Just a helpful hint - reviews fuel my writing fire ;-) _

_Couple of things. Based on a couple reviews, I'm not sure I made my point clear - this will be a multi-chapter. So think of it as "to be continued" until told otherwise. _

_For the purposes of this story, Jason grew up in the same house as Spencer and Melissa. _

_Ian never dated Melissa, and was instead the same age as Spencer and Toby. You'll understand why I chose him soon. _

_Remember the name of the actor who played Ian. Just refresh your memories real quick. _

_Flashbacks are in italics, and separated by page breaks. _

_I think that's it. If you have any other questions, let me know. _

_Onward!_

* * *

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 3**

He hardly slept at all that night. Nothing sufficed to relax him as he tossed and turned until the wee hours of morning, hiding his face beneath the pillow as the sunlight began to peek in through the gap in his curtains.

He couldn't get the image of her onstage out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. It was like being told to specifically _not _think of something, and subsequently being incapable of thinking about anything _else_.

Even Patches, his trusty Yorkshire Terrier, had peered at him from his perch on the pillow beside Toby, looking rather troubled that his master hadn't slept.

Emily had texted him when she left the club, expressing that she wanted to know he got home safely. In all honesty, he probably should have taken that cab after all. He hadn't really been in the proper shape to cart himself home. But nonetheless – he had made it unscathed. Relatively, that is.

He had responded very briefly for the lone purpose of preventing her from worrying. Nothing more, nothing less. She knew him well enough – and she knew it was wise to leave it alone until he felt it was the right time to talk about it.

It was almost eight thirty by the time he realized he would not be sleeping any time soon. He put on a pot of coffee and fed Patches, wandering around the apartment in desperate search of a distraction. He had tried the television, which failed to keep his attention. He had attempted to pick up a book, but the words on the pages kept blurring together as his mind wandered elsewhere. In the end, he consented to skimming through his high school yearbooks. It was precisely the opposite of what he was supposed to be doing, but he was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that nothing else was going to get accomplished.

He studied her senior photo for a while, remembering the day she had them taken. She had gotten into a fight with Ian and was on the phone with Toby for nearly an hour before her appointment. She had been terrified that all the crying she had done was going to ruin her makeup – but her fears were unfounded when the pictures turned out more beautiful than she had anticipated. He remembered not being surprised in the slightest. She had always been unfailingly photogenic.

It had all happened so long ago that it felt like a dream. He could hardly remember what it felt like to dial her number by heart, talking way past his phone curfew on a nightly basis.

She had been one of the most important people in his life for so long. She had done more to soothe his soul than anybody else he had ever known. And he owed it to her to return the favor.

By ten o'clock, he was on the doorstep of the loft above the coffee shop. He had taken a few minutes to gather his courage, pacing back and forth on the landing to catch his breath. And then at long last, he raised a fist to knock firmly three times.

It took only a few short seconds for someone to answer the door. It was not, however, the person he had been expecting to see. Instead of Spencer, it was a man – strongly built with blond hair that California's finest surfers would envy. The man regarded him, perplexed at his arrival, before breaking into a smile.

"Toby. Long time, no see."

He returned the gesture, though it felt half-hearted. "Hey, Jason…I'm sorry to bother you – I didn't know anyone else lived here."

Spencer's half-brother had always been kind to him – a quality he hoped was still applicable.

"No, it's fine," he declared dismissively, stepping aside to allow room for entrance. "C'mon in."

Toby crossed the threshold, his eyes immediately doing a onceover of the loft. It was nicer than he had anticipated it would be, but its size gave him pause. It was nowhere near big enough to accommodate two grown adults.

Jason was already whisking his way into the kitchen, brandishing a coffee pot. "Caffeine?"

Toby hadn't realized how much he needed it until asked. "Yeah. That'd be great."

"I'll pour you a mug. Have a seat."

Toby quietly did as he was told, perching himself on the edge of the couch in front of him. He saw now that there were pictures of the Hastings-DiLaurentis family donning the walls, several of which struck him as familiar. There were only two that he did not recognize, each featuring Spencer's older sister, Melissa, and a small, dark-haired child.

"Is Spencer home?" Toby inquired at last, wishing there was a more tactful way to ask the question. He hated to be rude.

Jason came to sit next to him, passing a cup in his direction. Toby gratefully sipped at its bitter contents.

"She ran downstairs for coffee – hates the stuff I make." He laughed quietly to himself. "She should be back in a few minutes."

There was a brief pause in which Toby wondered if Jason had any idea about Spencer's nightlife. Surely it would have been disastrous to bring it up, either way. He opted to keep quiet.

"How have things been?" Jason asked cheerfully, propping his feet onto the coffee table.

Toby wished he was in a clearer state of mind to have this discussion. He had always liked Jason, and under any other circumstances, would have been eager to catch up – but instead, he felt only half-engaged.

"Good. Just working a lot, going to school," he quipped at last. "What's new with you?"

"A little of this…little of that," Jason replied cryptically. He smiled over his ceramic mug. "Odd jobs here and there. Babysitting. Nothing special."

Babysitting. The thought struck Toby as being odd; Jason may have been kind, but he never would have pegged him as the nannying type.

The sound of a bed creaking in the back startled him in slight, and he became suddenly aware that a third person was hiding away. He had a sickening feeling that he knew precisely who it was.

Memories of high school were soon inundating him involuntarily.

He had come by one morning to pick up the chemistry book he'd left at her house. As usual, neither of her parents were home, and Jason and Melissa were God-knows-where. Spencer had answered the door in a silk bathrobe, looking particularly harried at his arrival.

* * *

"_What are you doing here?" she asked brashly, tightening the rope around the middle of her frame. _

"_Oh – I uh – I forgot my book last night," he answered uncertainly, trying to peek around her. "Can I come in?"_

"_No," she said quickly. Too quickly. "I mean – where is it? I'll grab it for you."_

"_Is this what you're looking for?" a new voice inquired. Ian was stepping into the doorframe with the aforementioned book in hand, donned only in a pair of boxers. He appeared cool and collected, as though the sight of him in his underwear were the most normal thing in the world. Toby suspected that Ian had done it on purpose, to set him off. _

_It had worked. He balked at the view, peering side-eyed at Spencer. "Yeah. Thanks." He quietly took the book, trying to will himself to walk away. But he couldn't – he was frozen in place. _

_Spencer was looking between the two of them sheepishly, a blush rising in her cheeks. She quietly excused herself from Ian, stepping onto the porch to join Toby and shutting the door behind her. _

_He studied her for a moment as she looked shamefully at her feet. He felt as though he were about to burst out of his own skin. _

"_You're sleeping with him?" he demanded incredulously, setting his book aside on the decorative 'welcome' bench. He hadn't meant for it to sound so accusatory – it had just kind of happened. _

_She raised her eyes to his for a second, then looked away once more. "No. I mean – yes. I mean – it's only happened a couple of times…"_

_He crossed his arms irritably. "Why?"_

_She scoffed slightly, as if the answer was obvious. "Because I love him."_

"_Well he doesn't love __**you**__," he spat, then instantly regretted it. Her mocha-colored eyes were glaring at him, indignant. _

"_You sleep with all kinds of girls, and you don't love them either," she insisted. "Why is it any different?" _

"_Because it is!" he hissed, taking her by the shoulders and craning his neck to meet her eyes. "You're better than that." _

_She pulled out of his hold, folding her arms protectively over her stomach, as if it was all that held her together. "Somehow I doubt that," she muttered. _

_They sat in silence for a moment, before he opted to speak again. _

"_You deserve better," he repeated quietly. _

_She rolled her eyes dramatically, throwing her hands out in frustration. "Why can't you just be happy for me, Toby?" _

_The answer was simple. "Because I'm your best friend. And I'm going to tell you when you're making a fool of yourself."_

_It was clearly the wrong thing to say. She shook her head at him in disappointed disgust, yanking the door open and disappearing back into the house. _

* * *

He wondered if she was still seeing him. The thought made him shudder.

As if on cue, the door to the loft swung open, revealing Spencer in a button-down blouse and a pair of yoga pants. Again, the visual of her from the night before in considerably less was infiltrating his mind, and he fought tooth and nail to push it away again.

She stood frozen in the doorway as her eyes met his, a distant sort of panic evident on her face.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Spencer," Jason chastised quietly.

"I was worried about you," Toby answered simply. He still wasn't sure how much Jason knew, and thought it best to avoid the specifics.

"I'm fine," she grumbled, slamming the door behind her. She dumped her purse onto a nearby counter. He wasn't sure what she had in there, but it made a pretty decent slamming noise – probably the result she was going for. "How did you even find me?"

He chuckled a bit, though it came out sounding fake. "You told me where you live. Remember?"

Annoyed realization seemed to dawn upon her face, and she swore under her breath.

"I'm uh…I'm going to take a walk," Jason decided, standing and making his way to the door. Spencer grabbed him by the arm and muttered something to him, to which he shook his head and continued on his way. "I'll catch you later, Toby."

"Yeah," Toby agreed. "Later."

The lock clicked quietly behind him, and the silence set in. She was still standing in the kitchen, busying herself with the unnecessary task of wiping down the nearest countertop with a sponge from the sink. He watched her for a while, waiting for the bottom to drop out.

And it did. Of course it did. She hated awkward pauses, and would do anything to avoid them. _Including _talking about something she didn't want to.

She spun around to face him, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. "All right. Fine. What do you want to know?"

He shook his head, as if to indicate that he hadn't a clue where to start.

"C'mon, Toby," she began peevishly, stomping into the living room to confront him. "You came to check up on me. Like you've _always_ had a bad habit of doing."

This ignited something fiery within him, and he released a guttural sound of frustration. "I only ever tried to be your friend, Spencer."

She made a barking noise in the back of her throat, as if choking on a bitter laugh. "All right then," she conceded sarcastically, plopping down on the couch next to him. "Fine. I'll bite. Let's pretend we're still friends – what does _my friend_ want this time?"

She knew how to annoy him better than anyone he knew, and always had. He was clenching his teeth to keep from blowing up at her.

"What were you doing there last night?" he asked, hoping to shelve all the bullshit for a minute.

"My job."

"Does Jason know?"

"Hell no," she spat. "He thinks I work there as a waitress."

"Why?" he began, staring into the depths of her eyes. "Why do you do it?"

"Because," she said quietly, much of her fight disappearing in that instant. She looked at him as though perplexed that he couldn't understand. "I _have_ to."

"Why?" he repeated.

"Because it pays more than anything else I've ever had. And I'm trying to save up money to pay for college."

Part of that made sense. But there was a gaping hole in her story.

"And you can't do that anywhere else?"

She sighed impatiently, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It wouldn't be enough. I wouldn't have enough to pay for school and take care of – " She paused, as though thinking better of going any further. "It just isn't practical."

"_None _of this is practical," he said quietly. She gave him a pointed look, but did not deny it.

They sat in silence for a few moments. She cleared her throat purposefully, wringing her hands together, as though preparing to say or ask something that was very difficult to get out.

"Did you…I mean…were you there when…?"

"No," he declared loudly. "No. I left when I saw you."

Something akin to relief seemed to flood over her face. The quiet befell them once more. Another creak in the back room reminded him of the other thing he had wanted to ask.

"Are you still seeing Ian?"

She regarded him for a moment, the expression in her eyes dark. The topic appeared to anesthetize her in some bizarre way.

"It's…complicated."

He was about to ask her to elaborate, when all semblance of thought suddenly escaped him. Someone else had entered the room.

And it was not Ian.

"Mommy?" the little boy whimpered, approaching her sheepishly as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Who's that?"

His heart stopped immediately. However, despite the fact that the world had stopped spinning for him in that instant, Spencer continued on as though nothing abnormal had happened.

"He's a friend," she explained quietly, reaching out to brush some of the dark hair out of his eyes. Toby now recognized him as the child from the pictures. "Go lay back down, baby. I'll be there in a minute."

He obeyed, but not before eyeing Toby surreptitiously one last time.

She exhaled heavily, as though merely waiting for him to bombard her with demands for answers.

"Ian?" he whispered. She hesitated, but after a beat nodded in confirmation.

A lot of things were falling into place at once. Her dropping out of Yale. Jason _babysitting_.

Things being "complicated" with Ian.

"Can I ask you something?" he ventured. She nodded resolutely. "The pictures…of him and Melissa…" He trailed off, gesturing to the frames on the entertainment stand in front of him.

She leaned back on the couch and toyed with the sleeve on her store-bought coffee cup, making it a point to avoid his eyes. "My parents told people for a long time that Ryan was Melissa's son. She was married, and stable…it would have been much less of an embarrassment."

He knew her parents, and as much as he hated to admit it, it all made sense. Spencer's pregnancy would have been the talk of the town – by pawning the indiscretion off on Melissa, the situation would seem far more normal to outsiders.

"They wanted her to officially adopt him. I told them no."

"And Ian?" he pressed, praying that he was not overstepping a boundary. He knew he was pushing his luck.

Something seemed to occur within her. She had broken from her trance and was standing up, sighing purposefully to signal her return to reality.

"I don't really feel like talking anymore," she explained quietly. "I think it's time for you to leave."

He wanted nothing more than to argue with her – insist that she needed him right now. Demand the rest of the answers he so desperately craved. But he could see that she was clearly tired, in more ways than one. And he didn't want to push her.

So he stood, allowing her to lead him toward the door. He paused in the middle of opening it, glancing back at her.

"Can I call you?" he breathed.

She seemed to think this over for a minute, before shrugging noncommittally. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

She probably couldn't have stopped him, anyway. After giving her his business card yesterday, she had texted him almost immediately so that he'd have her number, too.

But it felt nice to have her permission.

"Bye," she murmured, shutting the door behind him.

He stood on the landing for a moment, trying to collect himself. He couldn't remember ever feeling this confused and disoriented. It was an entirely new emotion.

He trudged back to his car, parallel-parked sloppily in front of the coffee shop. When at last he forced himself to put the truck in gear and drive home, he found that he felt no better – maybe even worse – than he had the night before.

**[TO BE CONTINUED]**


	5. I'll Find A Way

_**A/N:** All right. So I take it you guys figured out the connection between the actor who plays Ian and the child? Ryan Merriman. Ryan. Did that on purpose. Oh, stop looking at me like that. I thought I was being clever. _

_Let's get to it._

* * *

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 4**

_The weather was bleak that afternoon, a blanket of clouds sulking overhead above the school courtyard. Toby didn't particularly mind; he much preferred the sun of course, but the overcast quality of the day served as a metaphor for several other goings-on in his life. It felt appropriate that the sky was mirroring the precise way that he was feeling._

_He quietly sifted through each envelope, wondering which one to open first. Eenie, meenie, miny, mo. It probably wouldn't matter which one in the end – he was certain they would both have similar condolences: '__**Thank you for your consideration in our university's program, but we regret to inform you that all of our positions for admission have been filled. We encourage you to re-apply next year**__.'_

_Blah, blah, blah. '__**You're not good enough**__.' That's all they needed to say. It ultimately meant the same thing, when you took away the sugar coating._

"_Just get it over with," he muttered to himself, pushing his thumb beneath the flap of the first envelope. UPenn. It had been his second choice when he was applying, but the more likely of the two._

_And there it was. Almost an exact replica of the response he had recited in his head. He tossed it aside. _

_Penn State. It had been his first choice all his life, as it was the college both of his parents had attended. He ripped it open, feeling considerably more anxious now. And – _

_He felt his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach, slowly folding up the letter and shoving it back into the torn envelope. He couldn't help but feel like a complete and utter failure in that moment. The two colleges he hoped he'd be accepted into – and neither had found him to be a suitable candidate. _

"_Hey!"_

_He turned to see her jogging toward him, pulling her shoulder bag off as she took a seat next to him on the bench. "What's up?" _

"_Nothing," he muttered quickly, trying to conceal the letter from her view. _

"_What's that?" she inquired, reaching to snatch it away from him. He pulled it out of arm's length._

"_Nothing, I said," he repeated firmly. She had bested him, however, by using his shoulders as climbing leverage. She waved the letter in the air victoriously. _

"_Afraid I'll be jealous because I haven't gotten any acceptances yet?" she chided laughingly as she began to delve into its contents. "That's sweet of you Toby, but I assure you, I…"_

_She trailed off, the smile on her face melting slowly away as she mutely perused the letter. He turned from her, embarrassed. _

"_Toby…" she began quietly, placing a hand on his knee. "I'm sorry…" _

"_It's nothing," he said brashly. He was beginning to feel like a broken record. _

_She handed it back silently. He accepted it, fumbling mindlessly with the corners of the paper. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what else to do with it. _

"_It's all right," he offered, suddenly feeling guilty that he'd brought her down with him. "I'll figure something else out. Technical school, maybe. I mean, let's face it – I was never cut out for college. Not like you." He smiled as he said the last bit, gently elbowing her. _

"_It doesn't matter where you go," she began softly. "You're going to do great things, Toby." _

_It warmed his heart, as simple as it was. He curled an arm around her and allowed her head to droop onto his shoulder. He turned his face into her crown, breathing in the scent of her vanilla coconut shampoo. Her hair tickled as he spoke. _

"_Not as great as you." _

* * *

Toby returned to his apartment early that afternoon, wishing he were anywhere else. After everything that had happened – everything he had discovered – solitude was the last thing he wanted. His brain was in overdrive, and he had no clue how to shut it off. Television wasn't helping much: and it was the epitome of a cruel coincidence that the first thing he landed on was _Pretty Woman_. He couldn't change the channel fast enough.

He was grateful when his phone rang. It didn't matter who it was. Either way, he was going to seize this opportunity to think about something else.

Caleb. He brought the phone to his ear.

"Hey."

"Hey, man," Caleb said. "Sorry I didn't call earlier, but I figured you'd be sleeping. Emily said you weren't feeling well last night."

Good old Emily.

He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I uh…got pretty sick." It wasn't even really a lie, when all was said and done.

"You doing okay?"

"Mmhmm," he mumbled noncommittally, adjusting his position on the couch as Patches leapt up to join him.

"Listen, I really appreciate you guys talking me into going out last night. I had more fun than I thought I would."

"Yeah – yeah, I'm glad," he said. He had tried to put more '_oomph_' into the sentiment, but the attempt had fallen miserably flat.

And Caleb caught onto the scent faster than a dog in a meat market. "Dude, what's going on? Are you all right?"

He fleetingly considered telling him everything. But where would he even start? How much of it was really his business to share?

Instead he sat up straight, hoping it would correct his mood. "No, no, I'm okay. Just a little woozy still."

"Okay…" Caleb said, not sounding convinced. "Well, I guess I'll let you go. Lemme know if you need anything."

"I will," he said reassuringly. "Bye."

"Bye."

He ended the call, finding himself regretting that he had nothing else to talk about. He could have used a friend, even if it was one who didn't know what was bothering him.

And then it occurred to him. A _friend_. He wasn't the only person who needed one right now.

He had grabbed the DVDs and sprinted to his car before he really had a chance to consider what he was doing. But it didn't matter – whether he had thought it through properly or not, he wouldn't have been able to talk himself out of it.

On the balcony of the loft once more, he knocked anxiously. This could turn out one of two ways – and he hoped the odds were in his favor.

She answered the door, something changing in her expression as her eyes fell upon him.

"Before you say anything," he began swiftly, squeezing past her to enter the apartment before she could turn him away, "I'm not here to talk."

Perplexed, she closed the door behind him, leaning against it and probing him with her gaze. "Then why _are _you here?"

He brandished the handful of DVDs, smiling suggestively. "I brought your favorite." He did not even wait for her to respond; he was already making his way to the DVD player on the entertainment stand. "Does Ryan like _Harry Potter_?"

"He's _three_," Spencer reasoned lightly, but he could hear the hint of amusement in her voice.

"Well," he started quietly, pivoting his crouching position to face her, "do _you_ still like _Harry Potter_?"

There was a moment of silence that followed. He feared he had pushed too much too soon. But then, at long last, she broke into a smile.

"Of course I do." She sat down heavily on the couch, her legs flinging into the air like a child. He laughed at her enthusiasm.

"Where is Ryan, anyway?"

"In the back with Jason," she replied. "He hasn't been feeling well, and he wanted him to read him a story."

He heard the hint of disappointment in her tone. "Not you?"

"Jason does better reading voices than I do," she explained with a playful roll of her eyes. "Apparently the _Cat in the Hat_ is supposed to be Irish."

The image of Jason reading in an Irish accent made him chuckle. He bounded back to the couch, remotes in hand, as the menu popped up on the television.

She was staring wistfully at the screen, an indiscernible expression on her face. "I didn't realize how much I missed this."

She could have been talking about anything. Him. Harry Potter. Laughing in general. He wasn't sure – but either way, he was happy to oblige her.

"Well I brought them all," he offered, spreading them all out on the coffee table. He peered at her from his peripherals, afraid of hearing the answer to his next question. "Do you have to work tonight?"

"No," she said, sounding slightly surprised. "It's actually my first Saturday off in months."

It was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The thought of her going back there again was enough to make him hurl.

"Well then we got time," he stated softly, gesturing to the pile of movies on the table in front of them.

She smiled. It was the same radiant grin that she had given him when she saw him at the coffee shop yesterday…and he felt a familiar wave of warmth envelope his entire body.

He was about to press '_play_' when the door swung open. It was a girl, likely around their age, tiny in stature with large, expressive eyes.

"Hey, Spence," she greeted immediately without even looking in their direction. She was too busy perusing the depths of her purse. "Can I grab a tampon? I was on my way here and I forgot that – Oh, Jesus. Hello."

She had noticed Toby, but only seconds too late. She was blushing scarlet, looking akin to a deer in headlights.

Spencer was fighting not to burst into laughter. "Sure. Aria, this is Toby, a friend from school. Toby, this is Aria, Jason's girlfriend."

"Hi," he said uncertainly. The mention of tampons did little to frighten him (his sister was an open book, after all), but the fact that _she_ felt awkward made _him_ feel awkward.

"I'm sorry," she blurted immediately. "I've never been great at first impressions."

"The first time I met her, she was butt naked in the bathroom," Spencer quipped.

"Spencer!" Aria declared, aghast.

"Didn't take long for Jason to get the lock fixed after _that_," Spencer laughed.

He couldn't help but smile at their exchange. It was nice to hear Spencer laughing like this.

"Hey, babe," Jason said as he emerged from one of the two back rooms, planting a brief kiss on her lips. "I see you met Toby."

"Yeah…unfortunately. For him, I mean," she added quickly, smiling apologetically in his direction.

He chuckled quietly, feeling as though it was finally time to save her. "It's nice to meet you, Aria."

"You too."

"Ryan's passed out, by the way," Jason stated. "But his fever is gone."

"Good," Spencer breathed. "Thank you."

Aria curled her arm into the crook of Jason's elbow. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, just let me grab my wallet."

"Where are you going?" Spencer inquired, gesturing to the screen in front of them. "We were just about to have a marathon, here. Don't tell me you can't join us."

"Dinner reservations with my parents," Aria explained, pulling a face. "They've been hounding me for weeks to get Jason back into Pittsburg. I think they miss him more than me."

Jason had returned once more, pulling on a button-down over his white t-shirt. "All right. Ready."

"I'll have him home before curfew," Aria joked as they started to make their leave. "Bye, Spence."

"Bye," Spencer giggled. As the door shut behind them, she turned to Toby. "Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine," he insisted light-heartedly. "They're cute together."

"Yeah…they are," she agreed wistfully, her eyes trained somewhere far beyond the apartment. He wasn't sure why, but he hoped she wasn't thinking of Ian.

He shouldn't have even thought about it. He'd done enough to jinx himself lately, that he could have gone without this, too.

There was a knock on the door. Spencer was on her feet in an instant to answer it, as though already expecting someone.

Toby didn't realize that it was possible to hate Ian even more than he had in high school, but he was proved wrong in an instant. He swept his way inside, as though he owned the place, dressed pompously in some obscure Calvin Klein suit with his hair slicked back. Toby felt a wave of irritation wash over him as he came to understand what this meant.

Here Spencer was, degrading herself just to make ends meet for her child. And there was Ian – clothed in the nicest digs Philadelphia offered, as though oblivious to the fact that he was rubbing it in her face.

He suddenly found himself wondering why Spencer hadn't nailed his ass to the wall in court yet. He would surely have to pay her a small fortune in child support.

"I tried calling you a thousand times, Spencer," he chastised the moment he walked in. "It would be nice if you answered your phone once in a while."

"It died…I put it on the charger in the – "

"We have a kid," he interrupted. "I need to be able to get a hold of you."

She shrank under his glare. "You're right. I'm sorry."

The exchange made Toby sick. He was standing before he realized what he was doing.

This certainly caught Ian's attention. Noticing him for the first time, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, his face a mirror of disbelief.

"Cavanaugh," he muttered, turning to Spencer for an explanation. She was purposely avoiding his eyes. He brought his gaze back to Toby. "I thought we got rid of you a long time ago."

He was trying to pass the comment off as a joke, but Toby knew better.

"Well, I'm back," he said coldly.

"Huh," Ian huffed thoughtfully. "Well, you know what they say about cockroaches."

Toby took a step forward. Spencer cleared her throat quickly to defuse the tension. "Ryan's laying down. If you have a seat you can wait until – "

"I'm in a hurry," Ian insisted. "Wake him up, would you?"

She hesitated, but after a beat nodded, creeping carefully past him to do as told.

The silence that settled was unbearable. Toby had never wanted to hit him as much as he did right now.

"So. Trying to get in her pants again?" Ian demanded, an eerie sort of apathy lacing his voice.

The question was so brash that Toby was caught entirely off-guard. "What?"

"You heard me," Ian said, his eyes burning daggers into Toby's figure.

Toby balked at the absurdity of the question. "No," he answered, insulted.

"Good," Ian declared. "Because I wasn't afraid of you back then, and I'm not afraid of you now."

Involuntarily, Toby had begun to clench his fists at his sides. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Ian began condescendingly, brushing the edge of the countertop to clear away invisible dust, "that you're not a threat."

If Toby was being honest, the comment stung. The idea that Ian thought so little of him that he was certain Spencer would never look at him that way. He did his best to mask this incredulity, however, as he replied.

"If I wasn't a threat, you wouldn't feel the need to start a pissing contest every time you see me."

There was a moment of silence in which Ian stared him down, as if assessing the likelihood that Toby would make any false moves. Awkward though it was, Toby was sure to glare right back, his eyes growing dry as he refused to blink.

"All right," Spencer said, emerging from the bedroom with Ryan and a backpack in her arms. "You ready to go see Daddy?"

"I want Uncle Jason," Ryan murmured into her neck, burying his face there.

Ian looked positively murderous.

"Ryan, it's time to go," he said sternly, prying his son from Spencer's arms. Ryan wailed in frustration.

"Ian!" Spencer gasped disbelievingly. Instinctively, Toby had come to stand next to her.

"He's fine," Ian snapped. He was adjusting Ryan on his hip now, slinging the backpack over his free arm.

"I love you, baby," Spencer cooed, reaching out to brush a piece of wild hair from Ryan's forehead. "Be good for Daddy, okay?"

"Okay," he whimpered uncertainly. Ian was already halfway out of the apartment.

"Be careful, Ian," Spencer pleaded desperately. He had slammed the door between them before she could even finish. She stood there for a moment, frozen in place, her fingertips brushing the wooden paneling.

He wasn't quite sure what to do. He knew what he _wanted_ to do – but she would probably frown upon him going to jail tonight.

"Spence…" he began quietly.

She spun around, as though remembering that he was there. She plastered a smile on her quivering lips and wiped at her eyes, clearly hoping she could fool him.

"I'm okay," she said, plopping back onto the couch beside him. "Come on. Let's watch the movie."

He studied her silently, ignoring her request. She wasn't looking at him, but he knew she could see him staring at her out of the corners of her eyes. She shuffled uncomfortably.

"Toby, please…let it go."

His voice was caught in his throat. He couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing that would make a difference, anyway.

The silence was slowly breaking her down. Her face twisted into a grimace, and she brought her hand to her mouth sheepishly as a sob escaped her throat.

He hadn't done it in so long, but the instinct came back to him as easily as riding a bike. He slid down the length of the couch, gathering her in his arms. She fell against his chest, tugging on the front of his shirt as though it were the only thing anchoring her to sanity.

They sat there for some indiscernible amount of time, she crying quietly into his shoulder, he stroking her hair. It reminded him of the number of occasions he had had to do the same a long time ago, for disturbingly similar reasons. He remembered now why he had always hated Ian.

When she gathered her composure she pulled away, pushing the tears impatiently from her cheeks. Neither of them had to say a word; anything that either of them needed to know was spoken silently in their previous embrace.

"I'm okay. Really," she stated, giving him a tearful smile. This time he believed her.

"He's a dick, Spence," he said hoarsely.

She fervently shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it," she declared gently. "I want to watch."

He made a thoughtful noise in his throat, gazing at her side-eyed. He hoped she would pick up on the fact that he was teasing now. "I don't know…I don't think I'm feeling it anymore…"

"Toby!" she cried, amused surprise crossing her face. "Come on, this was your idea!"

"Yeah…yeah, it was…" he said nonchalantly, toying with the remote. "But I've had bad ideas before…"

She rolled her eyes, clearly catching onto the joke. "Give me the remote," she chided. He pulled it out of arm's reach. "Give it!"

"You're going to have to do better than that," he chuckled, gesturing to her half-ass attempt at retrieving it from her slouched position on the couch.

She scoffed incredulously, jumping to her knees and leaning over him. "Toby, come on."

"Not good enough!" he said, holding it out and away with his opposite arm. She was clawing her way up his shoulders now.

"Stop!" she cried laughingly. "Let me have it!"

He tried to lean further away, but with the awkward angle he was at in combination with the weight of her body, he fell backwards onto the other end of the couch, her falling on top of him. She didn't seem to notice – she was still trying to crawl across him to get the controller.

"Toby, you're being a butt head!" she shouted. He burst out laughing in reply.

"Are we twelve again? You didn't tell me your apartment was a time machine."

She groaned in frustration, reaching out as far as she could before losing her balance. This resulted in her mouth brushing dangerously against his ear, and they both froze at the unexpected electricity that followed.

Her eyes flickered back to his, her expression changing into something unfamiliar. He wasn't sure their faces had ever been this close before. The smell of her perfume was debilitating, and the depths of her toffee-colored eyes put him in a temporary trance. If she were any other woman, he would have kissed her.

She seemed to read his mind, scrambling away as if burned by their proximity. He was sitting up quickly, too, his own instincts frightening him. She smiled shyly to deflect any tension, and then took advantage of his shock by grabbing the remote. "Ha. I win."

And just like that, it was over. The girl that wiggled around in a victory dance next to him was the exact same girl he had known his entire life. She wasn't _sexy_ – she was _Spencer_.

"All right," she declared. "Let's get this Potterthon started."

**[TO BE CONTINUED]**


	6. Time To Walk Before I Run

_**A/N:** Reminder - flashbacks are in italics. I like to think of them as adding more history and depth to the story without spending too much time pulling away from present-day narration. I try to make a lot of parallels, and I hope they come off as being effective._

* * *

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 5**

_The blaring stereos were audible from dozens of yards away. He could hear The Black Eyed Peas all the way from his car at the back of the parking lot. He didn't look forward to going inside and being trounced with such nauseating pop music. He hadn't been looking forward to doing this at all, really. He'd never bothered to attend a high school dance before, but his parents had insisted that prom was different. It seemed redundant, really, when he'd have another chance to attend in senior year – but he had little else going on Saturday nights these days, and didn't mind getting out of the house._

_Despite all of his pre-conceived notions, he put on a happy face and pushed open the double doors that would lead him into the hotel ballroom. _

_His classmates were congregated into their typical cliques all throughout the enormous place. He could spot the cheerleaders from a mile away, dressed in thousand-dollar gowns and donning tiaras to represent the fact that they'd been nominated for the oldest and worst tradition in high school history – what they considered to be the pinnacle of the night – the crowning of Prom Queen. _

_He had hardly had enough time to check his ticket at the door before he was immediately bombarded by Lucas, a friend from his photography class. _

"_Have you seen this place?" Lucas marveled, his eyes alight with surprise. "I didn't expect that I'd give a crap once I got here, but even I have to admit – it looks pretty awesome."_

_Toby nodded casually in agreement. "It's definitely not half bad. Where's Danielle?"_

_Lucas rolled his eyes. "Freshening up. I don't get what it is about girls. They beg and plead for you to bring them to prom, then they spend half the night in the bathroom." _

_He chuckled. _

"_Did you bring someone?" Lucas inquired as he led Toby to his table. _

"_Nah," Toby said dismissively. "Asking a girl to prom in high school is like proposing." _

_Lucas laughed, but Toby did not miss the hint of panic on his face. "Yeah. Good one." He fought to find his composure once more. "I'm uh…gonna go get something to drink." _

_Toby laughed to himself as he watched Lucas sprint away. Hopefully the joke hadn't ruined his night. _

_He was about to take a seat and dig into the plate of cheese and crackers in front of him when two delicate hands obscured his vision. _

"_Guess who?" she asked throatily. _

_He grinned. He knew her voice anywhere. _

"_Spencer."_

"_Is that your final answer?" she pressed. _

_He rolled his eyes against her fingers, spinning around to face her. If he was being honest, it took him several seconds to recognize her. She was dressed in a floor-length red gown, with so much skirting that there had to be at least ten layers underneath. Her usually-natural face was accentuated by makeup, her lips scarlet to match the dress. And neatly tucked into the curly wisps of her hair was a single rose bloom – whether real or fake, he wasn't sure. _

"_What?" she asked worriedly, suddenly looking self-conscious. When he didn't reply immediately, she sighed with dejection. "You think I look ridiculous."_

"_No – no," he laughed. "Just different." _

_She scoffed impatiently, her voice thickening into a juvenile whine. "Different good or different bad?" _

"_Different good," he stated, playing with the ruffles of material on her shoulder. "How many starving children in India do you think had to work through dinner to make this dress?"_

_She slapped his hand away playfully, her face lighting up in mock-horrified surprise. "Toby!"_

"_I'm just kidding," he insisted. "You look great." _

_She grinned. "Good. Let me show you the best part." She spun around dramatically, her skirt whirling around her legs like ribbons around a maypole. He couldn't help but be amused at the fact that she was so entertained by such little pleasures. "Cool, huh?" _

"_Very cool," he confirmed. "Where's Ian?" _

_She waved her hand dismissively in the empty air behind her, rolling her eyes. "Who knows. Garrett told the team he had to show them something like an hour ago." With an all-mighty sigh, she gazed toward the middle of the room, where couples were wrapped in one another's arms. "Kind of annoying, actually." _

_He caught the hidden meaning in this statement, following her eyes to the dance floor. He knew how she'd rather be spending her time – so he took it upon himself. _

"_Wanna dance?" _

_Her eyes lit up so brightly that his suspicions were confirmed. She had clearly been waiting for this opportunity all evening, Ian having abandoned her before they got a chance to make it to the dance floor. _

"_Why, yes, Mr. Cavanaugh," she said jokingly, making a poor attempt at a British accent. "I'd be delighted." _

_He brought her out to the middle of the room, placing one hand on her waist and holding the other out beside them. She looked impressed at his posture. _

"_The fancy kind of dancing," she observed. "Ian just puts both hands on my ass." _

_He wasn't sure whether she was serious or kidding. _

"_My mom made me and Jenna take ballroom dance classes when we were kids," he muttered. "Remember?" _

_Her mouth twisted upward into an impish grin. She clearly recalled precisely what he was talking about, and perhaps had purposely tricked him into admitting it all over again._

"_So why didn't you bring a date to seduce with your fancy moves?" she asked quietly. He could see some combination of curiosity and concern appearing in her eyes. _

"_Ah, Spence," he chortled, "you know I don't do dates." _

"_Oh, right," she said good-naturedly, her voice dripping with mock superiority. "I forgot. Dates are too much commitment for you." _

_He sent her his best side-eyed glare. She only laughed in reply. _

"_C'mon, Toby. You have to admit. It sounds pretty ridiculous." _

"_Yeah, well," he said noncommittally. "You can never be too careful." _

_Her face softened, and the concerned part of her previous stare was returning. "That makes me sad," she stated simply, though the words were so heavily laced with nuance that he felt uncomfortable. He averted his gaze, avoiding her eyes. _

"_What the hell do you think you're doing?" _

_Spencer leapt away from him, as though their touch had electrocuted her. Toby spun around just in time to duck an incoming punch from Ian's fist. _

"_Ian!" Spencer declared, flabbergasted. _

_He was swaying precariously on the spot, most likely trying to make his head stop spinning before he moved in to try again. _

"_You're drunk," Toby surmised. It suddenly made sense why the team had been gone so long – what Garrett had to 'show' them was a flask. _

"_And you're a dick," Ian challenged, stepping in Toby's direction. "You've never been able to stand the fact that I got her and you didn't." _

"_Ian…" Spencer began again, but trailed off quietly. _

"_Listen, man," Toby said brashly. "She's my best friend. It's not like that." _

"_The hell it isn't!" Ian slurred. "I've seen the way you look at her." _

_Toby shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what you're talking about." _

_And it was the truth. He didn't. _

"_Sorry, dude," Garrett began helpfully, grabbing Ian by both arms from behind and beginning to lead him away. "Too much tequila for this one." _

_Obviously. _

_Once Ian had been dragged out of sight kicking and screaming, Toby turned back to Spencer. She looked both horrified and devastated, wrapping her arms around her middle. _

"_I'm sorry," Toby breathed. _

_She shook her head fervently, the rose nearly coming loose from her curls. "No," she said quietly. "I'm the one who's sorry." _

* * *

"Turn to the left…okay, now the right…Good. Now dance around a little."

Toby sent a deadpan glare in Caleb's direction. "Hysterical."

"No. Seriously. You're going to be moving around a lot, and I want to make sure it doesn't rip."

Toby groaned to himself, glancing around the menswear shop. Nobody seemed to be paying attention, so he finally consented to a half-hearted rendition of The Macarena.

"Toby, something that requires more movement," Caleb insisted irritably.

"Like what?" Toby asked, amused. "You want me to drop it low? Breakdance? Do the worm?"

Caleb sighed, but forfeited the argument. He had approached him again, brushing non-existent lint from the sleeves of the tuxedo.

Attending final tux fittings wasn't exactly the way Toby had wanted to spend his Sunday morning. After all, he'd been at Spencer's until almost three A.M. watching _Harry Potter_, and he was admittedly exhausted. Caleb's nine o'clock wakeup call wasn't exactly welcome in his borderline-catatonic state.

"It looks fine," Toby said impatiently.

"Well, Ezra's needed to be taken in," Caleb insisted.

"Mine doesn't," Toby declared. "Where is Ezra, anyway?"

"I told you. We did this yesterday. When you were hungover."

Toby rolled his eyes. "I wasn't hungover."

"Fine. _Indisposed_." Caleb took a step back to admire the fit once more. "It looks a little short in the right pant leg…"

"Are you calling me a mutant?" Toby demanded jokingly.

Caleb nailed him with a warning glare. "C'mon, man. I'm just trying to make sure everything is perfect for Hanna."

"Look. I've heard of Bridezilla…but Groomzilla was not something I was expecting," Toby confessed, chuckling. "I think you're blowing this way out of proportion."

Caleb winced, as if having an unpleasant revelation. He sighed melodramatically, then waved a hand toward the dressing room. "Okay. It's fine. Go change."

Toby didn't need to be told twice. He was already halfway behind the curtain before Caleb had finished his sentence.

"So…uh…" he began uncertainly as he shrugged off the jacket. "I know I only RSVPed for one person, but do you think it's too late for me to bring a date?"

Caleb tore the curtain open, his eyes wide in disbelief. Toby found himself grateful that he hadn't stripped down completely yet.

"A _date_?" he asked incredulously. "I thought dates weren't your thing."

Toby grumbled a curse under his breath, snapping the curtain shut once more. "I ran into a friend from high school. I just think she and Hanna would really get along."

There was a beat. "You know Mona's gonna be there."

Toby pulled a face without even realizing it. He may or may not have made the gigantic mistake of hooking up with Hanna's Maid of Honor after the engagement party.

Caleb seemed to read his mind. "I know you said it didn't mean anything, but I don't want to start trouble."

"It won't," Toby promised, pulling on his jeans. "Mona knew what that night was. I swear."

Another pause. "Fine. But I still think you need your brain looked at."

"Very funny," Toby muttered. Once he pulled his zip-up hoodie back on, he drew the curtain back to step out. "I just think it would be good for her. My friend, I mean."

Caleb was still peering at him suspiciously, and Toby didn't like the way the wheels were turning in his head. "Who is this _girl_?"

"I told you," Toby said nonchalantly. "A friend. I've known her my whole life."

"You've never talked about her…" Caleb said uncertainly.

Toby shrugged. "It's been a while since we've talked. But things are different now."

Caleb's eyes were doing a better job of dissecting him than he was comfortable with. "What's her name?"

Toby was about to answer when another man stepped out from the changing room beside them.

It was Ian, dressed in some lavishly expensive suit.

He avoided eye contact as he whisked himself away to the tri-fold mirror across the room, but the tension in his jaw was evident. Curtains were not exactly soundproof.

"Shit," Toby groaned. "He heard me."

"What?" Caleb said, bewildered. He was looking over his shoulder at Ian's retreating figure. "Who? Who's that?"

"Her ex. Or – I don't know – maybe her boyfriend? I can't really be sure."

Caleb's eyes bugged out, as though he'd been bludgeoned in the back of the head. "Boyfriend? Toby…"

"It's complicated," Toby muttered, hating the fact that he had to repeat Spencer's words from the day before. 'Complicated' was an understatement – it was a full-blown nightmare.

Caleb cocked an eyebrow at him. "Dude, what are you doing? Are you sure you want to get mixed up in this?"

Ian was glaring at Toby's reflection in the mirror, his mouth set into a thin line of irritation. It was all that Toby could do not to stomp over there and push the goddamn thing on top of him. He loathed his very existence.

Instead, he returned the same angry stare, grabbing his garment bag from the hanger beside him.

"Positive."

* * *

He had barely settled into the front seat of his truck before he was dialing her number. It rang once. Twice.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he greeted warmly. "How's your day going?"

"Good," she chirped. "Just got done tidying up a bit. How's yours?"

"It's okay," he said uncertainly. "I uh – I saw Ian today."

There was a pause. "You did?"

"Yeah," Toby said, attempting his best at being casual. "Does he still have Ryan? He wasn't with him today."

"Yeah," she said, but he could hear hidden worry buried somewhere in her tone. "He has his sister, Maya, watch him when he has to run errands."

"Hmm," he muttered thoughtfully.

"Let it go, Toby," she urged. "Ian and I have an understanding."

Understanding. Right. Because Spencer had _so much_ say in Ian's life.

He ignored the instinct to fight with her and opted to change the subject. "What are you doing right now? I was wondering if you're feeling up for some coffee and the rest of our Potterthon."

She hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry, I'll have to take a rain check. I have to work tonight."

He felt his breath catch in his throat. The immediate visual that followed this statement was heartily unwelcomed.

"Don't go," he pleaded, surprised at how desperate his own voice sounded.

"I have to," she insisted roughly. "I told you. I don't exactly have a lot of options right now – "

"I'll get you a job at my work," he interrupted. He had said it before really considering it – but now that he thought about it, it was entirely plausible. "My friend Emily is swamped at the front desk, and they've been looking for a second receptionist for a couple weeks now."

She sighed quietly. "That's sweet, Toby…but I don't think anyone wants to hire someone with my resume."

He tried to think of something else to say to convince her, but nothing came to him.

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

And with that, she was gone. He stared helplessly at his phone for a while, wishing there was something – anything – that he could do to keep her from going back to that shit hole. The idea of her continuing this horrendously degrading lifestyle made him sick to his stomach.

He was still sitting there when Ian emerged from the menswear store, brand-spanking-new suit in hand, striding arrogantly toward an Escalade. Toby gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had blanched entirely. It made him furious to know that Ian had all of this money to blow, and hardly a dime to spare for the mother of his child.

She deserved better. So much better than everything that she had to deal with.

And he was going to find a way for her to escape…if it was the last thing he did.

He punched another number into his phone. His anxiety was so heightened that the sharp ringing pained his ear – he thought his cochlea might implode.

And then, at last, someone picked up.

"Hey…Byron?" he began quickly, attempting to swallow the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. "Are you still looking for a receptionist?"

**[TO BE CONTINUED]**


	7. Nothing Goes As Planned

_**A/N: **Hey y'all. I hope you're still enjoying this. I know it's different - but it was just really something I wanted to try out. I kinda miss getting reviews though, lol. It makes me feel like people just aren't into it. So if you are, please - let me know. _

_NOTE – random names from PLL have been coming up lately, and it doesn't necessarily mean that they will play a role or have anything to do with PLL plots. I just think of them as little Easter eggs to discover as you're reading, instead of using brand new names that are just pulled out of thin air._

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

"_We're never going to make it back in time," she whined disdainfully, bringing her knees to her chest in the passenger seat. "I never should have talked you into saying for the encore." _

_His eyes flickered to the digital clock display and back to the road. It was 11:55 at night, and her curfew was a very strict twelve o'clock A.M. _

"_I'm sure they'll understand," he said supportively. "I mean, they know how concerts can be." _

_She made an indignant barking noise. "Yeah, sure. If they knew that's where I was." _

_He inhaled deeply, trying to control his annoyance. "You lied about where we were going?" He groaned loudly. "Why would you do that? Now your mom is gonna call my mom, and I'm going to be in trouble for – "_

"_I told them we were going to the movies, okay?" she hissed, pulling her hand away from her eyes long enough to glare at him. "They think that all people do at concerts is smoke weed and get drunk. I've never been allowed to go to one." _

_His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He could just picture his dad's very long, very harsh speech about helping his best friend lie to her parents... _

_But she looked completely and utterly anguished. And he couldn't be angry for long. _

"_It's fine," he decided quietly. "I'll come inside with you and explain everything. I'll tell them it was my idea – that it was a surprise." _

_He couldn't see her face, but he could tell from the new vibe that settled in the car that she was calming down considerably. _

"_Toby," she started softly, "you don't need to do that. It's fine. I'll handle it." _

_As he slowed down at the red light, he turned to face her. She was gazing at him with sad appreciation. "Really," she said. "It's my fault and I'll own up to it." _

_He shook his head. "But I know how your dad is, Spence. If he knows that you purposely lied to him – "_

"_I don't need your help," she declared suddenly, a hint of frustration returning. "If I wanted you to help, I'd ask." _

"_But – "_

"_No," she interrupted quickly, her jaw tightening in fury. "If it's not my parents trying to make all my problems go away, it's __**you**__. And all of you need to __**stop trying to save me**__ every time I make a mistake."_

_He stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He had only tried to help – he hadn't meant to make her feel bad. As the light turned green, he brought his eyes silently back to the road, waiting for the dust to settle. _

_And it did…the same way it always did. She sighed dejectedly and leaned her head limply back against the seat, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to learn to take care of myself __**sometime**__, right?" _

* * *

He had hardly made it halfway to his apartment when she texted him. Before he even looked at his screen, he felt his heart plummet into his stomach.

'_Can you come over for a minute_?'

The message itself was simple enough, but he could detect the hidden meaning behind it. He knew her well enough to understand her telltale signs of irritation. Asking him to come by when she had already said she was too busy to see him was a huge red flag – saying it would be 'for a minute' was even worse. For whatever reason, he was now picturing her fuming silently by herself, waiting to rip him a new one.

He had a pretty decent idea as to why – and he was already rehearsing a counterargument in his head.

When he got there, she was waiting for him on the balcony of her loft, perched peevishly in a lawn chair just outside the door, a coffee cup in hand. He slowly ascended the stairs, preparing himself for the inevitable tirade.

She did not even look at him when he approached. He cleared his throat purposefully, seeing that he would have to begin the conversation himself. "You…wanted to see me?"

"I just got a voicemail from some man named Byron," she started slowly. Her tone was flat and emotionless, which only made it all the more frightening. "He called to thank me for my interest in the receptionist position and invited me to interview tomorrow at eleven o'clock."

Though he was doing a wild victory dance on the inside, he fought to keep his composure on the surface. She was clearly not happy about him taking this initiative, and he was going to need to play it cool if he had any prayer of making it back down those stairs in one piece. "That's great."

She pursed her lips into a thin line, neglecting to respond for a moment. He watched her uncomfortably.

"I told you to stay out of it, Toby." Her voice was still dangerously quiet.

"I'm sorry," he began hastily, struggling to remember the internal arguments he had formulated on his way over. "It's just – you made it sound like the only reason you didn't want to try was because you doubted yourself."

Her eyes flashed towards his, burning daggers in their wake. He gulped involuntarily and tried to remember where he left off. "But _I_ don't doubt you – and I don't think they will either. I just wanted to help…"

In that moment she leapt to her feet, looking as though she were about to burst out of her own skin. "I don't _want _your help!" she cried vehemently. "If I wanted it, I would ask for it!"

He balked slightly at her tone, but not enough to stop him from continuing.

"Spencer…"

"No!" she hollered. "You've always had this complex where you think you can interfere in my life, and I got sick of it a long, _long_ time ago! _Stop trying to help_!"

He could feel his own anger beginning to bubble in his veins, and just like that, all niceties were a thing of the past. "You _never_ want anyone's help," he growled. "You turn away the people that care about you and insist that you can do fine by yourself, but look at you, Spencer – _this isn't fine_."

She recoiled as if slapped. For a moment he thought she was going to return the favor in a more physically tangible sort of way.

"And where do you get off telling me how my life should or should not be going?" she demanded. "You disappear for four years and then just show up at my doorstep like you're some knight in shining armor. Like you get to swoop in here and wave some magic wand and make all of my problems go away!"

He curled his hands into fists at his sides but did not reply. He was afraid anything he might say in retaliation would be regretted shortly thereafter.

"You have this – this – this image in your head of me being the victim and yourself being the hero. You've always tried to clean up my mistakes, Toby, and you wanna know what I think? I think it's less about helping _me _and more about making _yourself_ feel better about the shallow, superficial person you turned out to be."

She was spinning on her heels now to re-enter her loft and conclude the argument. But he was not about to let her get the last word – not this time.

He grabbed her by the elbow and whirled her back around, the fire in his belly only fueled further by the rage that was etched into her features.

"You think I'm this way because I want to be?" he hissed. "You think I _enjoy_ being alone? I spent years trying to help you because I felt like I needed to return the favor. You were the _only person_ who ever believed that I could be more than what I showed on the surface, and now it's _my _turn. Let _me_ believe in _you_, for once."

The words were falling off his tongue with heat so strong that they would burn to the touch, could they take form. He'd be surprised if she could even find the nugget of sincerity buried beneath it all.

She did, of course. Her face changed for a moment, her eyes flickering away from his gaze.

"Why do you care so much what I do for a living?" she asked numbly.

He wanted to answer. Truthfully he did. But he had no idea what the answer even was.

"Things were fine before you came back," she muttered, as if forgetting she had asked a question. "I was doing everything on my own – and then I see you, and…" She trailed off, her voice breaking.

He loosened his grip on her, but did not remove his hand. Instead he began to rub her elbow affectionately, trying to indicate all of his apologies in silence.

"Are you happy, Spencer?" he asked at last, his voice so soft that it startled him.

She did not reply. Her eyes were still focused somewhere on his chest, purposely avoiding contact. She had started breathing heavily, as if willing herself not to cry.

"If you tell me that everything in your life is _exactly_ how you wanted it – that doing what you're doing is your dream career – then fine. I'll let it go, and I'll walk away."

Something faltered in his tone during the last part, and he realized the potentially gargantuan mistake he could be making. He didn't _want_ to walk away. She was back in his life for a reason, and he wasn't one to ignore signs of fate. He wasn't entirely sure how he had survived the past four years without her, actually, and he wasn't willing to try it again.

She seemed to interpret his meaning in precisely the same way. Her hair was flailing all around her face as she feverishly shook her head, her expression scrunching up into a twisted wince of pain as the tears began trickling out of her eyes. "It's not," she whimpered. "I'm _miserable_."

The sight of her breaking was enough to shatter his heart into a million pieces. He pulled her into his arms and cradled her head against his chest, burying his face in the roots of her hair. He choked back the lump in his throat and quietly soothed her.

"I always wanted to do it on my own," she sobbed, "and look where it's gotten me."

"I promise I'm going to get you out of this," he whispered. "You always told me that I deserved better than what I thought of myself, and I'm telling you now: this is not where you're meant to be."

She sniffled into his chest but did not reply. He craned his neck to plant a short kiss on the top of her head. "You deserve better than everyone else on this planet, Spence. And I'll do whatever it takes to help you figure that out."

It was a few moments before she pulled away, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She was still avoiding his eyes.

"I – I have to get ready for work…"

His blood froze over at this simple statement, and he found himself wondering why the hell she was choosing to forget the entire conversation.

As if reading his mind, she chuckled quietly. "I'll do the interview tomorrow. But I need the money tonight."

The idea still stung him inexplicably, but he understood.

It was a compromise he was willing to make.

* * *

He hardly slept that night, tossing and turning at the thought of her being back on that stage. The idea of all of those ruthlessly horny men gawking at her as if they'd never seen a woman's body before. The unpleasant image of her stripping every layer away – both physical and emotional – to get through the night.

And now, after finding out how much she hated to do it, it all felt that much worse.

By the time morning came and he was on his way to work, he was functioning like a zombie. He'd run a red light out of sheer exhaustion, and nearly run into a parked car.

Well. So far, this day was turning out to be swell.

He had hardly walked into the maintenance garage before being accosted by Caleb.

"The girl who's interviewing for that job today – that's your friend, isn't it?" he demanded, toying with the wrench in his hands. Toby feared he was going to bludgeon him over the head with it.

"Yeah," he answered simply. "Yeah, it is. Hey – how did you hear about it so fast, anyway?"

Caleb ignored the question. "Why? Why here?"

Toby shrugged as he pulled out his timesheet to punch in. He had the fleeting realization that the last time he did this was only three days ago, though it felt like a lifetime past. So much had happened in that short weekend.

"Toby?"

He sighed heavily, turning around to look Caleb dead in the eyes. The candor of his expression startled Caleb, who recoiled a bit in surprise.

"I'm going to tell you something," he began slowly, "but you have to promise not to say anything. To anyone."

Caleb shook his head. "What do you – ?"

"_Anyone_."

His friend's face softened in slight, but the confusion did not disappear. He consented to a slow nod.

Toby pulled his work gloves on, spending an unnecessary amount of time perfecting their fit. "Do you remember the girl at the club on Friday – the final act?"

"Yeah – yeah, Darkbloom something-or-another," Caleb agreed casually. "What about – "

Realization washed across his features like he'd been doused by a bucket of water. "Oh, my God. She – ?"

"Yes."

"And you've known her since – ?"

"Yes."

"And you don't want her to keep – ?"

"Right."

Caleb looked so shell-shocked that Toby quickly pulled up a folding chair for him to collapse into. He did exactly that, his face never changing expression.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded at last, his eyes assessing Toby for answers.

Toby shrugged nonchalantly, leaning over the clock-in station to gather his own composure.

"How do you tell somebody something like that?"

Caleb winced in agreement, scratching the back of his head pensively.

"I wish you would have said something on Friday," he muttered. "Now I feel like I've completely violated someone that I've never even met."

Toby couldn't help but chuckle. "It's all right. I suppose it just means that neither of us are going back to a strip club for a long, long time."

Caleb was staring at him once more as he stood up and made his way to stand next to him, leaning on his elbows.

"You wanting her to stop…it's not just because you've known her so long," he said quietly. "It's the fact that it's _her_."

The comment was cryptic at best, but Toby unfortunately understood precisely what he meant by it. He shrugged it off as quickly as possible.

"She deserves better," he replied.

Caleb looked at him from the corners of his eyes, uncertain. Toby felt intensely uncomfortable, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was going through his friend's mind.

"It's not just about that," Caleb started, a look of concern on his face, "you have feelings – "

The sound of the garage door whirring open noisily was the equivalent to being saved by the bell. Toby immediately made his way to the customer to inquire about what they needed, thanking God that he hadn't had to think too heavily about Caleb's psychoanalysis.

Because if he was being honest, it had kind of terrified him.


	8. Where There Is A Flame

_**A/N:** All right, this one is a bit longer because it took me so long to update. I'm planning to have roughly 4 or 5 more chapters, but we'll see how it plays out. _

_I had a request to clarify which character names are important and which ones aren't. So far, the only two that won't really matter in the end are Byron and Maya. No relation to the original characters, simply two names I chose for two peripheral people within the story._

_PS - wtf writers? Amirite? Tuesday's episode was a mind fuck. Jeez. This better all turn out okay in the end, or I'll be devastated._

_Onward._

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

_Lunch time. Every high school student's favorite subject. Toby was no exception, for fourth period English always made his brain hurt and stomach rumble. _

_He settled into his usual chair, at their usual table, picking the pepperonis off of his cardboard pizza. School lunches certainly didn't qualify as fine dining, by any stretch of the imagination. But he was an eighteen-year-old boy with a hearty appetite, and was very seldom one to refuse food. No matter how unnaturally chewy. _

"_Guess what?" Spencer chirped, before he even got a chance to say 'hello.' She was sitting bolt upright, her knees bouncing eagerly as though her announcement was going to make her burst. _

_He chuckled at her zeal. "What?" _

"_I got in."_

_He paused mid-chew, staring at her to confirm the news. Her grin rivaled that of hundreds of beauty queens before her, mouth stretched so far that it took up most of her face. _

"_Yale?" he breathed. She nodded emphatically. "Oh, my God, Spence, that's fantastic!"_

"_I know," she agreed, modesty taking a back seat to pride. "I can't believe it."_

"_Congratulations," he declared supportively, reaching across the table to high five her. She held fast to his hand. _

"_I couldn't have done it without you," she said sincerely. "All those times I asked you to read and re-read my admissions essays – "_

" – _Which I believe you still owe me pizza for," he said. He pulled a face as he looked at his Styrofoam lunch platter. "__**Real**__ pizza, that is."_

"_You didn't complain once," she continued affectionately, conveniently ignoring the part where he reminded her to return the favor. He smiled inwardly, knowing that she would do it anyway. "You were honest and real, and you helped me make them better. Thank you." _

"_You're welcome," he said, giving her fingers one last squeeze before taking his hand back. "What did your parents say?" _

_There was a nigh indiscernible twitch that flitted across her face, before she shrugged nonchalantly. "They're still at that convention. I haven't told them yet. But Jason and Melissa are thrilled."_

"_Good," he agreed through a mouthful of pizza. School pizza always took longer to chew than it probably should have. "Ian?" _

"_I'm telling him as soon as he gets over here," she said, looking impatiently over his shoulder. "Speaking of…"_

_Ian was strutting around Toby to take a seat beside Spencer, pulling her in for a very public, very possessive kiss. Toby rolled his eyes when he knew he wasn't looking. _

"_What's up?" Garrett greeted as he plopped down next to Toby. It was no secret that Toby wasn't a fan of Ian and his cronies, but Garrett was at least, by some slim margin, more likable than Ian himself. This was lucky for Toby, considering he had just recently started dating his sister, Jenna. _

"_I got into Yale," Spencer exploded, clearly unable to hold it in. Ian smiled distractedly as he twisted open his pop bottle. _

"_Cool." _

_There was a brief pause in which Toby distinctly noticed Spencer's confidence falter. Garrett broke the silence, oblivious to the fact that it was at all uncomfortable. "Yale. That's for smart people, right?" _

"_Yeah," Toby quipped, locking eyes with Spencer. "The smartest." _

_She looked at him gratefully before regarding Garrett. "Yeah, it's really hard to get into. I didn't think I would have enough extra-curriculars to – "_

"_What time does practice start today?" Ian interrupted, as though she hadn't been in the middle of a sentence. Her smile slowly melted off her face as she slumped dejectedly against the back of her chair. _

"_Three," Garrett replied vaguely, his eyes still on Spencer. "I don't know why you're surprised, by the way. You're like, the smartest person in school." _

_Ian made some distant noise in the back of his throat, peering at Spencer out of his peripheral vision. "Yeah, it's great. Can we talk about it later?" _

_She pensively chewed on her lower lip, hesitantly reaching out to lace her fingers through his. "I'm sorry," she said, but there was some indignance in her voice. "I'm just really excited." _

_He pinned her with an irritable stare, pulling his hand away none-too-gently. "Later," he repeated. _

_She scoffed impatiently, shaking her head in disbelief. "You can never be happy for me about anything," she said quietly, clearly intending the comment for Ian only to hear. _

_Ian squared his jaw in determination, as if making it apparent that he was not about to back down. "I just wish you weren't so excited to leave town and leave me here, by myself." The words should have had some element of disappointment or even sadness, but they only came out sounding accusatory and venomous. _

_Her expression softened in slight. "Ian, it's not about that, and you – "_

"_**Later**__," he said one final time, his eyes meeting Toby's across the table. Toby accepted this silent staring contest, as if daring him to say one more thing. _

"_I think it's great," he blurted. Ian and Garrett both neglected to acknowledge this statement, and Spencer shook her head imperceptibly, silently asking him to let it go. _

_And though it pained him to do so, he did. Just like he always did. _

* * *

When the clock struck noon, Toby was out of the garage like a bat out of hell. He had a very specific purpose for today's lunch break, and he wanted to ensure that he'd have plenty of time to see it through. He had to catch her before she left – her interview had started an hour ago, and surely she wouldn't be around much longer, if at all.

He passed by Byron's office just in case, finding that the branch manager had also retreated for his lunch break. He continued moving, making his way to the double doors that would take him outside. The warm sunlight immediately shined down across his face, and he prayed that the good weather brought good fortune in tow.

Spencer must have sensed his need to see her, for she was waiting just outside the maintenance doors, leaning against the brick building pensively. It took him a moment to recognize her: she was dressed in a black pencil skirt and gray blazer, the likes of which he had not seen in several years. He had a sudden flashback of her running for student council in high school.

Her eyes flitted to his, and she broke into a grin. He quickened his pace to reach her, his hands flying out to grasp at hers in anticipation.

"Well?" he asked eagerly. "How did it go?"

She squeezed his fingers, shaking her head in stunned disbelief. "I – I got it. I got the job. I start Wednesday."

There were few moments in his life that brought him comparable joy. The first time his parents took him to Disney World; the day he got his driver's license and subsequently received his first car for his birthday (it was a junker, of course, but he took the utmost pride in keeping that baby on the road for almost three years); the day he graduated high school and set off into the real world.

And this. Somehow, above everything else, this felt like the undefeated champion. Even years later, when this day became a distant memory, he still wouldn't be able to properly explain why – it was some inexplicable force that put him in an unprecedented mood, and either way, he was not about to second-guess it.

Without another word, he pulled her in for a triumphant hug. His adrenaline was finally on a downturn now, and he felt rather dizzy with joy. "I'm so happy for you," he declared. A huge metaphorical weight was lifted from his shoulders as it sunk in that she would no longer be subjecting herself to working at that god-forsaken bar.

She pulled away after a brief moment, clearly impatient to tell him the rest. "I met Emily, too," she stated. "Is she always that nice? Or is she just being careful not to scare me away?"

He laughed outright, delighting in the sparkle that shined in her coffee-colored eyes. "Yes. She's _always_ that nice."

She giggled along with him this time, looking impressed. Hearing her laugh with such unabashed happiness felt like a memory long forgotten, and he was glad to see her this way again.

"Thank you," she began sincerely, reaching out to brush some of his hair behind his ear. Her fingertips were warm and comforting. "I don't think I could have taken this step without you."

He smiled gently in return. "You deserve it."

They stood there for a few seconds, silently appreciating the other's presence. And then, at long last, she broke the trance.

"Well," she started, pulling her purse up on her shoulder to readjust. "I'd better head back. I want to call Jason before his lunch is over and tell him the good news."

"All right," Toby said, watching as she began to walk away. As a thought occurred to him, he called after her. "Hey, what are you doing tonight?"

She turned to face him, still stepping slowly backwards toward her car. Her expression was coy – flirtatious even – as she replied. "Well, I was supposed to be working, but I guess I'm just going in to tell them I quit."

He would have danced a jig if he had less dignity. Instead he smirked in response.

"Good. I'll come by after work and take you out to celebrate. How does that sound?"

She puckered her lips to the side, as if jokingly deep in thought. "I think I can pencil you in." And with that, she winked and turned away once more, her heels echoing quietly across the parking lot as she continued on her way.

He watched after her, rooted to the spot. There could have been a fire blazing up his legs and he still wouldn't have been able to move. His heart was pounding in his chest for some bizarre reason, and he would have to wait for the feeling to return to his feet.

He waved half-heartedly as she pulled out of the lot and back onto the main road, feeling like his shift couldn't end fast enough. As if honing in to some inexplicable radar, Caleb was stepping up beside him before he even noticed him approaching.

"She got the job, I take it?" he asked quietly, his eyes following Toby's train of view.

"Yep," he answered, his face still stuck in a wide grin.

Caleb clapped him on the shoulder, playfully wiggling Toby's frame back and forth.

"I'm happy for you."

It would have been an odd thing to say under normal circumstances. It wasn't _Toby _getting the new job – it was someone he had never even met. But Caleb was privy to far more things about his friend than he should be – knew that this somehow superseded just helping out someone in need. He understood what it represented.

Toby couldn't even be bothered with feeling uncomfortable about how well Caleb could read him. He merely stood there with his best friend for another moment or so, reveling in victory.

* * *

At five-thirty that afternoon, Toby pulled into one of the parallel parking spots outside the coffee shop, feeling unusually giddy. It was a bizarre feeling that he hadn't experienced since he was a kid, and he wasn't quite sure where it stemmed from. A few ideas came to mind – a few possibilities that were absolutely inappropriate to pay any heed to. If they were true, it would mean that he regarded her as more than a friend – and that was incomprehensible.

He chose to ignore those fleeting thoughts. In the end, he just chalked it up to the fact that they had known one another so long that she brought out his inner child. It made sense, after all, considering they'd shared this sort of excitement in years past.

He sprinted up the steps, a small gift bag in hand, and eagerly knocked.

He stood there and waited. Several moments passed. He raised his fist to knock again, just as the door swung open. It was Jason – and the expression on his face was enough to make Toby's smile falter.

"Toby. Hey," he greeted quietly, running a nervous hand through his hair.

"Hey," Toby agreed uncertainly. "Is – is Spencer – ?"

"Yeah," Jason said, peering over his shoulder surreptitiously. "But I don't think it's a good idea for you to come in right now."

Toby's heart skipped a beat, and he felt a rush of ice course through his veins. He swallowed roughly.

"What do you mean?"

Jason's gaze fell to the ground, as if unable to meet his eyes. The silence was punctuated only by the sounds of the traffic behind them.

"Jason, what's wrong?"

The elder man sighed heavily, consenting to look at him once more. And then, some of the tension in his body floated away on the breeze, his shoulders slumping in slight.

"You know what?" he said quietly. "Forget what I said. I think you should be here for this."

He stepped aside, holding the door open at its full width to allow him entrance. Toby hesitantly crossed the threshold, feeling as though his heart was going to beat its way straight out of his chest. Something wasn't right – he could sense it. He had had this same instinct a fair few times in his life, and the outcome was never agreeable.

She was seated on the couch, her legs hugged to her chest, with her back to him. She was alive – she was breathing – that was at least a start.

"Spence," Jason began softly. "It's Toby."

The only reply was a deep intake of breath, as if she were steeling herself for some horrible explanation. She stood up and slowly turned to face him.

He dropped the gift bag at his feet. There was a deep purple bruise burgeoning across her eye, the swelling only perpetuated by the wealth of tears that she had clearly been crying. Her gaze would not meet his – she stared distractedly at the floor, as though something very interesting were happening down there.

He was at her side before he knew what he was doing, taking her face in his hands and lifting it toward him. She blinked sheepishly several times before finally looking at him.

"I'm fine," she said hoarsely.

"She's not fine," Jason hissed. "Ian came over here in a fit of rage about something or another, and – "

"Wait, Ian?" Toby demanded. "Ian did this to you?"

She clenched her jaw in determination, trying to keep herself from crying again.

"It's nothing."

"Spencer, this is _not_ 'nothing'," he argued vehemently, smoothing her hair behind her ears and holding the curves of her jaw delicately in both hands. "What happened?"

"I don't know," she muttered impatiently, pulling out of his embrace. An inexplicable chill swept through him as they broke contact. "He – he said something about you and me. Something about how he thinks I'm cheating on him with you."

"Cheating?" Jason spat, and it was oddly enough the precise reaction Toby himself was having. "That piece of shit has no right to tell you what to do. You're not with him anymore."

"I know that," she whimpered irritably. "I know I'm not, but he hasn't given up. He wants to make it work."

The way in which she seemed to feel sorry for Ian – defend him, even – made Toby that much angrier. There was no part of him that felt like Ian deserved an ounce of pity. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to beat his face to a bloody pulp.

However, he didn't quite feel right throwing his weight around. It wasn't exactly his place, and she would likely get more upset if he tried. Jason, on the other hand, wasn't holding back – something for which Toby was rather grateful.

"Listen to me, Spencer," Jason was saying waspishly, coming to stand directly in front of her. "That asshole isn't even worthy of breathing the same air as you. I've never liked him and you know that. He's crossed the line way too many times with you, and tonight takes the fucking cake. _You can't be with him_. Ever again. Do you understand?"

She seemed to be struggling to look indignant, but lacked the energy to do so. "Jason, he's Ryan's father…I can't just – "

"Do you _want _to be with him, Spencer?" Jason demanded roughly. "Do you? After everything he's done?"

She hesitated, but at long last shook her head vigorously. Her bottom lip was beginning to quiver, and she was on the verge of breaking down once more. "No," she murmured. "I don't want to be with him. But he's not going to let me move on…"

"The hell he isn't," Jason muttered, pulling her into his arms. She collapsed against his chest, sniffling quietly into his t-shirt. "If he doesn't like the choice you made, he can answer to me."

A beat of silence passed, save for Spencer's soft sobs. Toby felt suddenly very uncomfortable, as though he were intruding on a very private moment. He averted his gaze to the door, finding that he agreed with Jason on every count. He was angry, too – but more than that, he was terrified. Spencer was clearly frightened of Ian, for whatever reason – manipulated into thinking that she owed him something. She wasn't the same girl who could stand up to him in high school. And he wasn't the same cocky jock who just blew it off, either. He was different – worse. And with his power came her weakness.

It was the epitome of emotional abuse. And he had seen it coming a long time ago. He suddenly felt very guilty that he hadn't done more to intervene back then. Maybe things would be different now…Maybe…

Spencer was pulling away now, wiping gingerly at her injured eye. "I need to go take a bath," she said quietly. It was always one of her safe places – Toby remembered vividly.

He shuffled his feet uncertainly, his eyes following her figure toward the back hallway. He didn't want to ask it, but he knew he had to. "Do you want me to leave?"

She smiled sadly at him, shaking her head. "No. I don't." With that, she disappeared around the corner.

The moment she was gone, Jason jerked his head pointedly toward the front door. Toby understood his meaning and followed him outside.

Once on the balcony and out of earshot, Jason groaned in frustration. "I swear to God, Toby, if I see him…"

"I know," Toby agreed. "You'll have to save a piece for me, too."

They were quiet for a moment. Jason leaned against the railing, his eyes studying the street below.

"She wouldn't let me call the police," he muttered. "Didn't want to do anything that would hurt Ryan in the end."

Toby clenched his teeth. He hadn't even thought of the possibility, but of course – of course she was thinking about her child before herself. Not that it was unnatural, but this certainly qualified as an exception. It would be better for Ryan in the long run, anyway.

"Has – has he ever – ?"

"No," Jason answered immediately, predicting the end to Toby's question. "No, he's never touched Ryan."

Toby took a deep breath, crossing his arms against his chest to keep his hands from trembling.

"And Spencer? I mean…has this happened before?"

Jason's gaze shifted pensively to the porch beneath Toby's feet, then slowly traveled to meet his eyes. "She says no," he said softly. "But I don't know if I believe her."

Toby considered it. Ian had been a douchebag in high school – clearly – but Toby had never truthfully noticed any sort of physically aggressive behavior. He was inclined to trust her.

There was another moment of silence before Toby asked one of the many burning questions floating around in his brain. "Why did you let me come in?"

Jason's mouth twisted into a half-hearted smile, and he reached out to clap Toby on the shoulder. "Because you've always been there for her. And she's always needed you."

The simple statement spoke volumes, and Toby felt temporarily uplifted.

"C'mon," Jason said quietly, stepping back toward the door. "Let's go inside before she realizes we left."

Toby obeyed, the wheels silently turning in his head. He watched numbly as Jason retreated to his bedroom, in obvious need of a second to cool down in solitude. Sitting alone on the couch, his eyes wandered to the coffee table.

Her phone.

He glanced over his shoulder to ensure that neither of them were coming up behind him. Scanning through her contacts, he found what he was looking for.

He punched the number into his own phone, holding it up to his ear. His heart was racing and his blood was pumping him full of adrenaline. What he was doing was likely very foolish, but he was past the point of thinking logically.

"Ian Thomas," the voice on the other end announced as he picked up.

Toby took a deep breath before speaking. "This is Toby," he declared, his tone sounding alarmingly more menacing than he had ever heard it before.

"Cavanaugh," Ian muttered. "I don't have time for this."

"Listen to me, you piece of shit," Toby growled. He was gripping the phone so tightly that all feeling was draining rapidly from his knuckles. "If you ever lay another hand on her, I swear to God, I will find you – and I will kill you myself."

He ended the call, staring at his phone mindlessly for some indiscernible amount of time. He had expected to feel better after talking to him, but really, he only felt worse.

"Toby?"

He turned. Spencer was standing behind him in a tank top and pajama shorts, dabbing at her wet hair with a towel.

"Oh, sorry," she said. "I didn't realize you were on the phone."

He took a deep breath, fumbling to put his phone in his pocket. "No. I'm done."

She smiled softly, but it looked out of place beneath the discolored spot beneath her eye. He stood up and approached her. He wished he knew what to say – now that Jason was gone, he couldn't live vicariously through his tirades. Any other inkling of possible things to say was escaping him. Instead, he reached out to gingerly brush his thumb across the bruise, silently studying the shape it was beginning to take.

"Toby…" she began, her voice quiet.

"You don't deserve this," he said throatily. "And neither does Ryan."

"He wasn't here," she insisted, as though it solved any of the problems at hand. "He was with Maya."

"You _don't_," he repeated.

She was quiet for a moment, slowly bringing her hand up to meet his on her face. Intertwining her fingers with his, she lowered their grasp to waist-level.

"I know I don't," she said at last, studying the way his thumb brushed across hers. "But I don't know how to make it go away."

"I'll help you," he said, and then instantly regretted it. She loathed the phrase and always had – it had caused an argument just yesterday.

He prepared himself for the backlash. It did not come. Instead, she smiled sadly, bringing both of her hands to affectionately rub his upper arms.

"I know you will."

An involuntary shudder ran through his body at her touch. It did not go unnoticed.

"Are you cold?" she asked, her maternal concern immediately surfacing.

Try as he might to avert his eyes from hers, he couldn't. They were locked into place.

"No."

She furrowed her brow in slight, as though confused by his response. That was all it took for him to break away, stepping backward to regain his composure. He cleared his throat.

"Well, I promised you that we'd celebrate tonight," he decided, trying his best to sound cheerful. "And it's a promise I intend to keep."

"Toby…" she began uncertainly. "I don't think I'm up for going anywhere."

"No, I know," he agreed, brandishing the television remote in one hand and his phone in the other. "But that's why we have Pay Per View and pizza delivery."

She smiled – and it was the first real, genuine smile since he had arrived. He hardly noticed the injury in that moment. She was beautiful, regardless.

His heart warmed at the very sight, and then subsequently jumped into his throat as she came to stand directly in front of him once more.

"One thing," she said in undertones, affectionately fixing the collar of his shirt. He could smell the peppermint toothpaste on her breath, and it caused him to inhale sharply. "I get to pick the movie."


	9. Your Hands Can Heal

**CHAPTER 8**

_Toby had just settled into bed, and was flipping to the page he had left off on. The binding of his copy of __**The Catcher in the Rye**__ was minimally functional at best, worn and torn from countless re-reads before. He had vowed that he would purchase a new one someday, but the musty scent of the pages in the one he owned was somehow welcoming. It was like being called home from a far off land, and he gleaned inexplicable comfort from the waves of nostalgia it brought. _

_He was turning to the next page when he noticed her, the silhouette of her frame casting a faint shadow into his room. He glanced up, his gaze traveling through his own window and across the small yard into hers. She was standing in front of the glass, a look of mysterious distress marring her features, visible even in the darkness of her bedroom. _

_He set the book aside on his nightstand and approached her. She was already pushing her window open, and he hooked his fingers around the handles of his to do the same. _

_She leaned over the sill, a warm summer breeze catching her hair in its path. When he propped his upper body out of the opening, their faces were barely fifteen feet apart. His parents had always complained about the proximity of the houses in their neighborhood, but he and Spencer had always appreciated the easy access of talking to one another. _

"_What's the matter?" he asked, quietly enough to ensure that he wouldn't wake his parents. The echo between the houses always served to carry his voice properly to her ears nonetheless. _

"_I can't sleep," she replied, wringing her fingers together nervously. "I'm home alone and I made the stupid mistake of watching __**The Exorcist." **_

_He chuckled, arching an eyebrow in her direction. "Now why did you do that?" _

"_I don't know," she whined, her voice suddenly sounding much younger than it should. "Because I'm a dumbass." _

_He shook his head in playful disbelief. "You know this is what happens to you. Every time." _

"_I know," she groaned, chewing pensively on her thumbnail. "Can you come over? Just until I get tired?" _

_He bristled a bit at the idea. "Me? What about Ian?" _

_She rolled her eyes, pulling a face as if to say '__**are you kidding**__?'_

"_I'll take that as a 'no'."_

"_Please, Toby? Just for a bit?" _

_He sighed heavily, but could not suppress the urge to smirk in her direction. This was not the first time she had requested his nighttime company, and it would certainly not be the last. Her parents were gone frequently on business, and ever since Jason and Melissa had gone off to college, she found herself alone more often than not. "Fine. I'll be over in a second." _

_She hopped victoriously as she reached out to shut her window. _

_He didn't even bother to change out of his pajama pants, slipping his tennis shoes on without socks. He crept downstairs – knowing that his parents had never and __**would**__ never approve of the frequent midnight visits he and Spencer partook in – and slipped through the garage door. He jogged across the yard and up her porch, where she was waiting with the door open. _

"_Thank you," she breathed appreciatively as he crossed the threshold. "I can't even close my eyes without picturing Linda Blair's head spinning in circles."_

_He laughed teasingly. "Of all the movies to scare you…really? A low-budget 70's horror film?" _

"_Shut up," she snapped, punching him in the shoulder. "First of all, it's a cult classic. Low budget or not. And second – a movie doesn't need gratuitous gore to be scary." _

"_It's too late for big words like that," he insisted, peering into her fridge. "Can I have a soda?" _

"_Go for it," she agreed, propping herself onto the counter. "I saw that you were reading __**The Catcher in the Rye**__ again." _

_He came to stand next to her, popping open the top of his can. "Yeah. You know it's my favorite." _

"_I know," she quipped, kicking her legs out nonchalantly like a child on a swing. "I just don't get why you like it so much. I think Holden Caulfield is quite possibly one of the most unlikable protagonists in literary history." _

"_He's authentic," Toby argued. "He doesn't fit the stereotype of your average hero. He has layers – and he feels like a real person." _

_She was peering at him from out of the corners of her eyes, her mouth pressed into a thin line as she considered this. _

"_I don't know why you always say you suck at English," she began uncertainly. "You understand it a lot more than you give yourself credit for." _

_He shrugged noncommittally, taking a sip of his soda. "Yeah, I guess." _

_There was a beat before she hopped down from the counter. "What do you feel like doing?" _

"_Hmm," he murmured thoughtfully. "You wanna watch __**Halloween**__?"_

_She made a face and punched him in the shoulder again. "Very funny." _

_He chuckled into his soda, being careful to swallow instead of spitting it out. "Scrabble?"_

_A delighted grin appeared on her face, and she nodded once in confirmation. "That's more like it. I'll go grab it. Make yourself comfortable and get ready for an ass-kicking." _

"_Oh-ho-ho," he laughed with mock incredulity, calling after her from the next room. "Pretty sure of ourselves, aren't we?" _

_She returned with the box in hand, flicking her eyebrows at him knowingly. _

"_Yes, Gollum. 'We' are," she asserted jokingly, poking fun at his use of plural phrasing. "If there's one thing you should know about me by now, it's that I don't like to lose." _

"_You don't like to be __**embarrassed**__," he corrected, settling into a seat at the kitchen table. "There's a difference." _

_Something indiscernible flickered across her face, and was gone as soon as it had arrived. If asked, he would have guessed that it was some degree of shame at being called out. "You're right," she offered bluntly. "I don't like that, either." _

_She had started setting up the game board when he noticed that there was something additional behind her eyes – something he hadn't noticed when he came in. _

"_What else is wrong?" he ventured softly. _

_It was as though his acknowledgement of her distress was enough to erase it entirely. She looked up at him, plastering a smile on her face once more. "Nothing," she said easily. "I'm just glad I don't have to be alone tonight."_

* * *

She picked a Nicholas Sparks book-turned-movie.

Of course she did. Why wouldn't she? It was a girl thing, and though Spencer defied several feminine stereotypes, she was still a woman at heart – and that meant she had some deep-seated affinity to romantic dramas.

The plot of this particular film, _The Lucky One_, was like a heavy dose of déjà vu, eerily reminiscent of the current situation. She, however, did not appear to notice it. Or maybe she did – he couldn't necessarily be sure. But the way she was crying softly at the ending, her face buried in her knees to muffle the sound, seemed harmless enough. If he had to guess, he would wager that they were just good, old-fashioned tears shed for fictional characters. If it were personal, she would have asked to turn the movie off long ago. She didn't deal well with confronting this sort of stuff head on. Not right away, at least. That had been made glaringly obvious earlier tonight.

Either way, the likeness was uncanny. And it was hitting him a bit harder than he had expected. It only furthered his desire to hunt Ian down for the sole purpose of throttling him, and confused him all the more about the various layers of the situation at hand. He had known her all his life and was unfailingly protective of her – he always had been. But things just felt…_different_, now. He couldn't explain it, and he wasn't sure he even wanted to try.

By the time the movie ended and the credits started rolling, Spencer was scooting over toward him to gently rub his arm.

"Are you okay?" she asked, laughing tearfully.

"What?" he said distractedly. He noticed for the first time that there was unfamiliar moisture dribbling down his cheek. He had actually shed a goddamn tear. He wiped it away hurriedly. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She pursed her lips together to hide a smile, raising her eyebrows teasingly.

"Really," he insisted, clearing his throat. His tone deepened, as though he were subconsciously trying to assert his masculinity. "I'm good."

"All right…" She giggled quietly to herself, standing and stretching gratuitously. "You want anything to drink?"

He peeked into his cup, finding that it was indeed empty. "Sure. Some more water would be great."

"You got it." She took the glass and made her way into the kitchen.

He was absent-mindedly watching as the credits continued rolling, wishing he could begin to understand why she was neglecting to see the connection. It wasn't as though she wasn't smart enough to find it – Hell, she had coached him all through high school English about metaphors, and allusions, and allegorical homages. The intertwining of their lives on film was glaringly obvious, even to him. But Spencer, somehow or another, was an expert at regarding her private life as something differently entirely. Maybe she was in denial. Or maybe she just knew that if she thought too much about it, it would break her.

"What's this?"

He turned to see her returning to the living room, his glass in one hand, and the small gift bag in the other. He had nearly forgotten all about it.

"Oh…Just something I picked up for you."

The corners of her lips turned slightly upwards in a shy smile as she sat down beside him. "You didn't have to do that…"

He met her eyes, doing his damnedest to look past the growing swollenness beneath the one. If she didn't want to acknowledge it anymore, he wasn't going to draw attention to it.

"I know I didn't," he said softly. "But I wanted to."

Something strange passed across her face, but was gone in the blink of an eye. She was smiling once more. "Can I open it?"

He nodded to confirm, and the moment he did, she was rifling through the tissue paper like a child on Christmas morning.

"It's not much," he began quickly, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his quality of gift selection. "I mean, I just saw it and I thought of you, and I figured with the new job and all…"

He trailed off as she unearthed the day planner, her fingers running over the embossing of her name on the front cover. It was made from a striking shade of dark blue leather, complimented aesthetically by the silver color of the lettering. She was staring at it pensively, her eyes neglecting to meet his.

His panic intensified at her hesitation, and he began to reach out to rid her of it. "I'm sorry – if you don't like it, I can take it back and get something else."

She pulled it out of reach, her gaze finally traveling back to lock with his. He wasn't sure what emotion was in her expression – the way her brow furrowed and her mouth tensed, she looked almost sad. But that reaction didn't make a damn bit of sense.

"This is not something you just saw and picked up," she murmured with half-hearted accusation. "You had my _name_ engraved on it."

"I mean, yeah," he started, suddenly feeling cornered. "That part only took a few minutes. They just took it behind the counter, and – "

Before he could finish, she was throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. Hesitantly, he hugged back, inhaling the scent of her vanilla coconut shampoo. It was the same one she had always used when they were young, and was full of ambiguous nostalgia.

She pulled back after a beat and – was he imagining things? – wiped quickly at her eyes. "It's beautiful," she said at last, her voice raspy with emotion.

He smiled a bit, uncertain of what to say. In the end, he just settled for the most socially acceptable response: "You're welcome."

She set it lovingly on the coffee table, meticulously lining the corner of the binding with the corner of the wood. When she looked back at him, there was an affectionate sparkle in her eyes. He found himself wondering where he had seen that expression before, but quickly dismissed his inner ramblings as she suddenly yawned.

"You've had a long day," he surmised quietly, clapping his hands on his knees. "Maybe you should get some rest."

Just as he was making to stand, she tugged at his wrist, looking at him pleadingly. "No. No…Please don't go."

He glanced down at her, studying her face. He thought about all the nights she spent alone at her house when they were teenagers, and how she hated being left by herself. Especially when she was wrestling with something heavy on her mind.

"Are you sure?" he asked, sitting back down beside her. She was still clinging to him as she nodded fervently.

"Positive." Her eyes flickered to the list of movies on the television screen and then back to him, and she grinned. "I'll let you pick the next one."

He feigned deep thought, stroking at his stubbly chin. "Hmm…All right. Deal. But no more of this chick flick stuff. I want something with action."

She handed the remote over as a token of acceptance for these terms. He browsed through the guide.

"Okay. _The Dark Knight Rises_," he decided quickly, setting the controller aside and lounging back triumphantly. She pulled a face that he saw out of his peripheral vision, and he scoffed with good-natured incredulity.

"What? You said I could pick!"

"I know, I know," she agreed hastily. "I just…Batman?"

"I just…Zac Efron?" he retaliated mockingly. She walloped him in the arm laughingly.

"Okay! Okay! You win!" she conceded, throwing her hands up in surrender. The happiness etched in her features brought out a tiny dimple just beside her mouth, and he found himself surprised that he had never noticed it before.

"Damn straight," he said. "Now stop complaining and watch cinematic history unfold before your eyes."

* * *

So much for cinematic history. She was out like a light, her head lolling back against the couch, long before the climax of the movie even came around. It wasn't as though she hadn't been engaged – on the contrary. She had just about jumped out of her skin in excitement at the appearance of Catwoman. Regardless, she had continued yawning throughout most of the film, struggling to keep her eyes open. He couldn't fault her. After everything she had dealt with today – all of the physical and emotional turmoil – she had every right to be exhausted.

He peered at her every once in a while as the movie continued, checking to make sure he wasn't disturbing her. She couldn't have been more oblivious – she was mumbling quietly in her sleep, a small smile playing at her lips. The way the light from the television danced across her face accentuated the lines of her features, and he found it hard to look away sometimes. His eyes always seemed to return to that spot on her cheekbone…the place where Ian had struck her. Domestic assault in any context was far and away an unforgivable act in Toby's book – but even worse was the idea that that anyone could lay a hand on Spencer, specifically. She had never been anything less than generous and compassionate in all the time he had known her. Hurting her was like challenging God Himself to a duel. And he hoped the entire incident would come back to haunt Ian on that fateful judgment day – an occasion that, if Toby had anything to say about it, would be fast approaching.

Within the last few minutes of the movie, she had stirred enough to adjust her position, her head finding the crook of Toby's neck. She hummed briefly in her slumber as she got comfortable once more.

He gazed down at her, unable to suppress the urge to brush the hair away from her face. He allowed his fingertips to linger at her temple for a moment, tracing a pattern just outside her hairline. It was difficult to explain – nigh impossible, actually – but something about it felt right. Her scent was calming, and the sensation of her slow, even breathing tickling at his collarbone was one of the most natural things he'd ever experienced. He was lucky that he had seen the movie before. He hadn't exactly been paying much attention to it.

When the credits began, he knew it was time for him to go. A small surge of disappointment fleetingly passed through him, but he dismissed it as mere worry for the state of her wellbeing. The fear that once he left, she would be a victim of her own solitude once more, haunted by her nightmares.

He rotated his body in slight, enough to scoop his free arm underneath her knees. Her lithe frame was easy to lift as he stood and made his way back to her bedroom. Gently pushing open the door with her feet, he carried her to the bed and began to slowly set her in.

She stirred a bit again, her brow creasing unpleasantly about something in her dreams. He quietly began to lift the comforter over and around her body. Once it was tucked all around her to his satisfaction, he knelt down to admire her sleeping figure one more time. She looked more peaceful in slumber than he had seen her as of late, and he felt an unfamiliar tugging of his heart strings as a result.

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay here and memorize the angelic expression on her face – something he could think back to in moments of crisis. A reminder that there was a time that she was happy, and that those days would someday return.

He combed some loose hair behind her ear again, just as he had done on the couch. A small smile teased her tired mouth, and he leaned forward to briefly brush his lips against the soft skin of her forehead. It was something he had done hundreds of times before. It had always been a reminder that he would protect her, no matter what the cost. But somehow, this one was different. It had more underlying meaning than he could possibly comprehend.

"Toby," she murmured quietly, and he felt his flesh goose over in reply.

"Hmm?" he asked, his thumb brushing absent-mindedly across her injured cheek.

"Stay with me until I fall asleep," she pleaded in tired monotone, her eyes not even opening to make the request.

He chuckled quietly. "You _are_ asleep."

She was very minimally coherent. Her breathing was evening out once more, and he knew she was about to fall back under. "Please," she said, her tone all but inaudible.

He watched her drift away, and considered the Pandora's Box that something as simple as a sleepover could open. It was innocent enough by all counts, but could be bleeding nuance by morning.

In the end, he consented to do as she asked. She had certainly had the day from Hell, and anything he could do to make it a little less unbearable was a necessary choice. He stepped out of his shoes and crawled onto the bed from the other side, deciding that it was probably most appropriate for him to stay on top of the covers. He scooted closer to garnish some of her body heat, and she unconsciously rolled over to face him. They weren't touching at all, but some mysterious warmth immediately enveloped him nonetheless.

He watched her face for a while as sleep slowly overtook him, mentally tracing the faint freckles that kissed her nose and splattered against her cheekbones. He was almost completely asleep when an earlier thought made a surprising return.

The facial expression of hers that had boggled him so brutally earlier – the face that he had seen somewhere before, and couldn't quite put his finger on where.

It was the way that Caleb looked at Hanna.


	10. Now And Then When I See Her Face

_**A/N:** This one contains a longer flashback than normal. I tried to trim it down, but there was too much important material to cut it much more. To make up for it, I have another chapter on the way. It should be up later tonight. _

_I lied, btw, when I said that there would only be a few more chapters. This story has taken on a life of its own, and there is a lot of ground I want to cover. We're probably a little over halfway through right now. _

_This chapter mentions Kate Randall, Hanna's stepsister from the show. No connection to the original character. _

_I had a really hard time with this chapter, and I feel the need to mention it. I spent a lot of time perfecting it, and I still feel like it's rather weak in comparison to some of the others. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless._

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

_Toby rarely skipped class. _

_It wasn't as though he hadn't been tempted to on countless occasions. On the contrary. School had never been, and would never__** be**__, his forte. That sort of dedication and commitment was reserved for people like Spencer. People who gleaned joy and purpose from excelling at academia. Good for them. More power to 'em. It just wasn't his thing. _

_It didn't matter how many math problems he did or how many book reports he wrote: he was the type who learned more from life than from high school. It had not proven to be the adventure that his parents had promised. They had insisted that it would be the greatest time of his life – a time that he would look back on fondly as he got older. _

_Not fucking likely. _

_The final exams that punctuated the end of his sophomore year were right around the corner, and he knew he should probably be in study hall like he was supposed to be. But the glimmering of the sunlight outside was far too enticing; summer was fast approaching, and that always diluted his focus. _

_So instead he was sitting in his 1999 Buick LeSabre in the school parking lot, windows down, with the radio blasting. It was lucky that he had witnessed the security guard skip out earlier, himself. He was less likely to get caught cutting class this way. He couldn't fault the guy, obviously: warm weather had some inexplicable power that drew people away from their responsibilities. _

_He was startled from his daze when he heard the passenger door squeak open (making a mental note to oil the stupid thing), revealing the last person he ever expected to see at this time of day. _

_She settled into the seat as though it were the most normal thing in the world, flipping down the visor mirror to quickly check her appearance. She never spent much time on that stuff like most other girls did, which was made obvious by the mere split second assessment of her reflection. If he had blinked he would have missed it. _

"_Spencer?" he demanded, perplexed. "What are you doing?" _

"_Taking a self-proclaimed break from my Biopsychology Independent Study period," she offered. "I'm nearly done with my final paper on the pros and cons of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors as a psycho-pharmacological treatment for depression." _

"_This is a school-free zone," he stated jokingly without missing a beat. "Talk of papers and projects and finals are strictly forbidden in this car. If you can't follow the rules, you have to leave."_

_She rolled her eyes. "So what's your excuse for not being inside?" _

_He offered a half-hearted, sheepish smile. "I was…bored."_

_She laughed knowingly, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "Of __**course**__ you were." _

_They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, tapping along to the song on the radio and watching the cars travel by on the next street over. _

_The quiet didn't last long. It never seemed to, with her. _

"_Hey, so…" she began suggestively, "I overheard Kate Randall talking about your guys' date last weekend." _

_His heart thrummed nervously in his chest. "Yeah? What about it?" _

"_She said you guys had sex," she blurted, unable to hide her tone of morbid curiosity. "Is that true?" _

_He thought about lying to her…denying that anything of the sort had happened. He hadn't exactly kept her up to speed on his dating life, and for good reason: it didn't feel right to include her in this part of his world. She would only be disappointed in the choices he had made. _

"_Yeah," he said with quiet nonchalance. "Yeah, it's true." _

_She gasped excitedly, rotating in her seat to get a good look at his face. "So is she your girlfriend now?" _

"_No," he answered quickly. "No, it's not…like that." _

_She cocked her head to the side a bit, and he felt suddenly dirty under her scrutiny. She had always had an entirely different perspective on this sort of thing than he did. She had ideals and standards and romantic expectations. He had never bought into any of that. _

"_So why did you do it?" she asked, genuine confusion on her face. _

"_Because," he said simply. Any real answer he could have given her would have been far too inappropriate to share. _

"_Was…that your first time?" she whispered. He couldn't help but chuckle a little bit at her surreptitiousness, as though someone were listening right outside the window. _

"_No." _

_She gave him a look of incredulous surprise, reaching out to good-naturedly slap him in the shoulder. "I thought you told me everything!"_

"_I do," he agreed. "Everything worth telling, anyway." _

_Her mouth pursed into a thin line. She still didn't quite understand his perspective on the matter. _

"_What's it like?" she asked. _

_He turned his head to face her, finding that there was far too much curiosity etched into her features for her own good. "What's what like?" _

"_Sex?"_

_It was as though someone had nailed him in the stomach with a two-by-four. He had to catch his breath for a moment before replying. _

"_No," he began, laughing derisively. "No, no, no. We're not talking about this." _

"_Why not?" she demanded. "I want to know." _

"_I would need more than two hands to count how many ways this conversation is so wrong, on so many levels."_

"_Toby," she muttered impatiently, piercing him with a pleading gaze. "I just…I need to hear it from you." She began playing self-consciously with the hem of her shirt, her eyes purposely avoiding his now. "I know Ian and I just started dating, but he's been talking about how important a physical relationship is. He said it helps bring couples closer." _

_That sick fuck. What a complete bullshit line of manipulation. It was perhaps the one department in which Spencer was a bit naïve, and Ian was playing her like putty in his hands. _

_Toby made a mental note to have a very long, very serious talk with him later. _

"_It's not all it's cracked up to be," Toby replied honestly. And it really wasn't – not to him, anyway. Yeah, there was the fact that it felt nice, and the fact that it boosted his confidence – but people always made it sound so much more fun than it actually was. _

_She was shyly bringing her eyes back to his, as though embarrassed that she had said anything. He looked at her directly, hoping his next statement would sink in if he said it with utmost sincerity. _

"_You wait as long as you need to, Spence," he said quietly. "Don't let anyone tell you that you're ready for something that you're not." _

_The pensiveness that washed over her face as she considered this was humbling. He had known her for so long – far too long to be all right with the idea of her getting mixed up in all of this. She was like his little sister, in some ways: he couldn't help but feel a bit murderous at the idea of someone fooling her like that. _

_The thoughtful silence was broken only by the opening of the next song, his speakers whining with one of the most epic guitar solos to ever hit the airwaves. Spencer immediately dove for the volume, her eyes alight with joy as though the previous conversation hadn't even happened. _

"_This is my favorite song in the entire world," she announced happily, a delighted smile bringing her entire face to life. _

_Before he could even reply, she was already pushing her car door open, gesturing for him to join her outside. He rolled his eyes teasingly and followed her lead. He stepped out and watched her, leaning against the driver side with an amused smile on his face. _

"_We were probably conceived to this song. You know that, right?" he asked with a chuckle. "It's__** that**__ old." _

_She ignored him, climbing up onto the hood of the car. He felt momentarily panicked about her damaging it, though with her measly 115 pounds of body weight, the chances were quite slim. _

"_Spencer," he said nervously, "what are you doing?" _

"_Having fun," she declared with a wink. "You should try it sometime." _

_He smirked. "I'm usually the one saying that to you." _

_She flipped her hair over her shoulder with an air of superiority. "Perhaps. But you're the one who's afraid of taking a risk." _

_He felt the smile on his face falter in slight.  
_

_"You're too worried about making a fool of yourself, or messing up," she continued, raising her arms to the sky and spinning around for a beat. "You're your own worst enemy."_

_It was like she had torn away a layer of his skin. The realization was that painful. _

_She rolled her eyes melodramatically at his hesitation. "Come up here!"_

"_I'm totally good right where I am," he said, unable to suppress a small laugh. _

_**Sweet Child 'O Mine**__ wasn't exactly the most danceable song, but she clearly didn't care. Her eyes had fluttered shut and she was swaying her hips to the beat, her arms curled above her head, like a delicate flower blowing in the wind. The way the sun had settled in the sky, it was almost as though she was under a spotlight. _

_It was probably the first time in his life that he noticed how beautiful she really was. The way that her hair tousled in the breeze; the manner that her porcelain skin reflected the light, emitting her own ethereal glow. The method with which she tuned everything else but the song out, every micro movement a slave to its musical arrangement. _

_It wasn't going to be long before more guys like Ian were noticing just how fantastic she was. And Toby would be damned if he let a single one of them take advantage of her. _

_She hopped down before the song was over, grasping onto Toby's hand and twirling herself beneath his arm. He couldn't help but grin at her unconquerable Hastings fire. It illuminated everything in his life with warmth and clarity, even when times were darkest. _

_It was what would keep her going – what would carry her through hardships and challenges that faced her. She was no victim to obstacles; not only did she leap over them – she struck them down entirely. _

"_What's wrong with you?" she asked playfully, poking him in the chest. "You look like you're on another planet." _

_He took hold of her hand suddenly and she squealed in surprise. He swung their joined hands above his head, taking it upon himself to twirl her again. The laugh that echoed throughout the parking lot was contagious in every way. After a moment of spinning, she stumbled dizzily into his frame, knocking him back only a smidgeon. _

_She gazed up at him with friendly affection, her mocha-colored eyes catching the glint of the sun. "What you said a while ago…about nobody being allowed to tell me when I'm ready?" _

_He nodded shortly. _

_Her mouth curled into a somber smile as she reached out to pat him on the cheek. _

"_Don't let anyone tell you that you're ready for something that you're not, either." _

_She could have been referring to anything. There were dozens of things in his life that made him feel frightfully inadequate. His parents had intense expectations. Jenna had set the bar high, after all. _

_It didn't matter what specific thing she could possibly be talking about, though. It was nice to hear, either way. _

* * *

It took him a moment to gather his bearings as he awoke, his body feeling heavy with renewed consciousness. A sharp pain in his head made him feel like he was developing a hangover without ever drinking. He was struggling to remember where he was and what had happened the night prior. He was not in his own bed, that much was obvious. The surface that he was laying on was far softer than the mattress he had at home.

As his eyes adjusted to the light and began to properly focus, her face swam into view. The sunlight peeking in through the blinds was casting a glowing pattern across her features, alternating between shadow and illumination. Her slim body was rising and falling with every breath she took, oblivious to the fact that a new day had dawned. She was still asleep.

Half conscious, he reached out to gently rub the backs of his fingers down the length of her bruise. It was looking a bit more faded today, but it would be a great deal of time before it was healed completely.

Slumber had done nothing to ease his anger. If anything, it only resonated more strongly today. Seeing her so at peace just served to remind him of how torn apart she had been when he arrived the day before.

It was Ian's fault. All of it. He had been testing her resolve for years, in more ways than one. And Toby would be damned if he stood by and let Ian succeed in instilling that same sort of fear and weakness in her again. _ Ever_ again.

The sound of a man's throat clearing launched him unceremoniously from his reverie. He looked past Spencer's form to see Jason standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his face blanketed with accusatory displeasure. He was reminded fleetingly of the looks of disappointment his dad had given him all throughout his teenage years. Nothing good ever came from a glare like that.

Toby opened his mouth to explain, but thought better of it. The sound of his voice would surely wake her.

Jason seemed to have the same instinct. He squared his jaw disapprovingly, jerking his thumb sharply over his shoulder to indicate that Toby needed to follow him. The warning glance that accompanied this was moderately intimidating as Jason slowly turned on his heels and made his way back down the hallway.

"Shit," Toby muttered to himself. He slowly scooted to the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her sleeping figure. Once he had successfully evacuated, he tiptoed out of the room.

The front door was open. Jason was standing on the porch, waiting for Toby to join him. He winced. If Jason wanted to have this talk outside, it most certainly meant that there was going to be yelling involved. Tail between his legs, he shuffled out behind him.

Before he could even begin to formulate an explanation, Jason was already launching into a vicious diatribe.

"What the hell are you doing?" he growled, turning to face Toby straight on. His hands were curling into fists at his sides, an action that did not go unnoticed.

"Jason, it isn't what you – "

"Yes, it is," Jason interrupted impatiently. Toby wasn't sure he had _ever_ seen such danger in those sea-green eyes. "Toby, c'mon. Give me some credit. I'm not an idiot."

Toby shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "I – I'm sorry," he said at last, for lack of anything else to offer. He could argue until he was blue in the face, but nothing he could say right now would be sufficient. Jason had evidently already come to his own conclusions…and judging by the look in his eyes, he was not going to be easily dissuaded.

The older man was crossing his arms once more, arching a challenging eyebrow in Toby's direction. "It was never a secret, you know. High school girls talk, Toby."

Toby was honestly perplexed by his meaning. The expression on his face must have been response enough, for Jason chose to surge on.

"I may have been a couple years older than you, but I dated plenty of girls who had either been _with_ you or had a friend get their heart broken _because_ of you."

He exhaled shakily but did not reply. The statement was the epitome of a rude awakening. It felt as though Jason were reaching straight into his soul, clawing unmercifully at the incorporeal entity within his body. The shameful realization that was rushing through his system was like a paralytic drug, and he wasn't sure he would be able to speak, even if he wanted to.

"I always liked you, Toby," Jason was saying softly, some of the venom gone from his voice. His face, however, was a different story. "You know why?"

Toby's eyes dropped to the ground for a moment. Jason's sharp intake of frustrated breath made him instantly look back to him.

"Because I knew that even though you could be a bit of a dick to everyone else, you would never try to pull that shit with my sister."

He shook his head vigorously, finally succeeding in ungluing his tongue from the room of his mouth. "I would never – "

"Don't," Jason started vapidly. "Don't say something you can't take back."

There was a beat. Toby was remembering a montage of faces from his high school days, a whirlwind of blurry figures. It was as though all of the images had been placed into a blender and he was watching them merge together, indiscernible. He couldn't remember any of them clearly enough to distinguish one from the other. He hadn't even retained most of their names.

He felt sick. If he were in Jason's position, he would probably be doing the exact same thing.

"Maybe you've changed. Maybe you grew up. I don't know," Jason started, shaking his head in uncertainty. "All I know is that she deserves better than that. And I hope to God that you care enough about her to understand that."

The idea – the very notion – of someone hurting Spencer the same way that he had unwittingly hurt countless others caused him literal physical pain.

Jason sighed dejectedly, rubbing both hands over his face tiredly. Some of his vigor had dissipated, replaced by sheer exhaustion. He had put so much passion into caring for his sister over the years, only to have her resist him at every turn. She was the rebellious type when it came to people telling her what to do – she tended to do the exact opposite. Toby knew that better than anyone. The only exception had been Ian, the equivalent of Spencer kryptonite.

Because of this, Jason was stuck between a rock and hard place when it came to just how he was supposed to protect her. "You were her best friend. I always trusted you."

Toby swallowed, unsuccessfully trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. "Nothing happened," he eked out.

Jason was assessing him now, as if to determine whether the claim was authentic.

"It doesn't matter," Jason began, his tone so quiet that Toby barely heard him. "It may not have happened last night, but it will. Someday. And it's going to break her heart."

The very thought provoked a team of acrobatic butterflies flipping anxiously in the pit of his stomach. Jason was wrong. The suggestion was ridiculous.

"She's one of the most important people in my life," Toby insisted. "I would never do anything to hurt Spencer."

Jason chuckled darkly, as if unsure whether to believe him. He was approaching him now, finger pointed warningly in Toby's face.

"Don't make me regret letting you in yesterday," he hissed. "She doesn't need any more bullshit. From _anyone_."

Toby nodded resolutely. He agreed whole-heartedly – and he would be the last person on earth to perpetuate that miserable pattern.

"I have to go to work," Jason muttered, stepping away with an air of finality. The conversation was closed. "Make sure she's okay, will you?"

He watched helplessly as Jason slowly made his way down the stairs to the street below. How he could even _go_ to work at a time like this was beyond Toby.

His heart suddenly leapt into his throat as it hit him.

Work!

He yanked his phone from the depths of his pocket, seeing that Caleb had texted him. He was supposed to clock in an hour ago. The idea struck him as momentarily baffling, for he had never missed a single day of work in his life. Had never shown up any later than fifteen minutes _early_.

He knew he was supposed to care. But he couldn't quite bring himself to do so. Too much had happened – his focus was completely shot. It was easier said than done, after all, going in to the garage and shelving everything that had been going on. He knew that she wouldn't want to be alone today, and he didn't want to be the one to abandon her.

He typed back quickly.

'_Crisis. Long story. Please tell Byron I'm out today. I'll see you tomorrow_.'

He went back inside and shut the door behind him, traveling sheepishly down the hallway and back to Spencer's bedroom.

Jason's comments had undeniably stung, worse than any punch he could have thrown in lieu of the lecture. It was probably the most painfully accurate analysis of Toby's character that he had ever heard. He'd been careless. Arrogant. Self-serving. The fact that he had spent so much time casually dating around in high school that he hadn't realized just what he was doing…hadn't thought of the plethora of implications it would bring. He couldn't even remember their _faces_. There was something glaringly wrong with that.

He was '_that_ guy' – the guy that thought with his libido instead of his brain. The guy that didn't stop to consider how his actions were affecting those around him. The guy that didn't even _realize _he was '_that_ guy.'

He remembered telling Spencer that she was stupid for sleeping with Ian, because he didn't love her. She had snapped back that he did the exact same thing to every woman he met.

And he did. She was positively right. He just hadn't admitted it to himself before today. He was no better than Ian, in some ways. He had used his charm to his advantage for far too long, neglecting to consider the consequences.

He sat down beside her on the bed, gently grasping her shoulder to jostle her awake.

"Spencer," he said softly. "It's morning."

She grumbled irritably, her brow furrowing in irritation as she pressed a pillow over her face.

"Five more minutes, Jason."

He chuckled. "It's not Jason. But I suppose I should take the mistaken identity as a compliment."

She pulled the pillow away, peeking out of the one good eye to study him. Realization seemed dawn on her face.

"Toby…" she surmised, her chocolate eyes narrowing in uncertainty.

Pandora's Box. He had feared that she'd be uncomfortable with the idea in the morning, and he had clearly been correct.

Just as he was letting this sink in, her expression changed. A small smile was teasing her lips as she stretched, releasing a tiny hum that indicated pleasant surprise.

"Good morning," he tried again.

"Morning," she murmured happily, curling toward him. Her hand found his, her sleepy grasp encircling his fingers. Her touch was warm and comforting, and somehow eased the tension that had befallen his mind from the conversation with Jason.

"How are you feeling?"

Her eyes flickered down to their conjoined hands, and after a beat, she provided him with a thoughtful nod.

"Better, I think," she answered sincerely, her head pressing back and forth into the pillow a bit to find the perfect spot to lay it once more. "The longer I think about it, the angrier I am with him."

"Good," he agreed, reaching out to briefly massage her temple. "You should be angry."

She gave him a short shrug – the best she could achieve while lying down, anyway – and looked at him with casual defeat.

"Anger never really solves anything," she confessed quietly.

It was true. There was a reason that anger management classes existed. It usually created more problems than it resolved.

But it didn't mean that he was willing to brush aside everything that Ian had done…all of the problems that he had created, single-handedly. The damage had already been done: and Ian was _not _going to get off scot-free.

"Today is your last day of freedom before you start your new job," he quipped, trying to appear as light-hearted as possible as he changed the subject. "So let's have some fun."

"Hmm, what did you have in mind?" she slurred, pulling herself into a sitting position with some effort.

He smiled playfully, patting her hand once more before standing. "It's a surprise. So get up – we're going out."


	11. She Dreams In Color, She Dreams In Red

_**A/N:** The moment you've been waiting for will be in the chapter after this. I promise._

_This is a long chapter so let's keep this brief._

_Onward._

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**

_It was 8:15 when Toby walked into the restaurant, knowing that he was already running hopelessly late. _

_His parents had insisted that he get a summer job after his sophomore year, complaining that if his grades weren't going to be up to par, he had to do __**something**__ productive. His final report card had left something to be desired, most certainly, and his folks didn't take mediocrity lightly. _

_He had been furious at first. He didn't want to spend the majority of his summer stuck indoors, unable to enjoy the weather. However, upon obtaining a construction job that allowed him to work in the sunlight, he found that he didn't mind as much as he thought he would. He was making money by doing something that he was good at, and was able to enjoy the summer's warmth at the same time. _

_But tonight they had kept him well past his usual clock-out time. And he was unforgivably late for Spencer's Sweet 16 birthday dinner. _

_He was perplexed when he didn't see her at first. She had explicitly said that the corner table had been reserved specifically for their group of friends – but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, all he saw was Ian and a couple guys from the football team, lounging back in their chairs like they owned the place. _

"_I told her that nobody likes a girl who won't put out," Ian was telling his friends brashly, taking a generous gulp of his soda. "I mean, it's the __**truth**__. It's not my fault that she took it so personally."_

"_It's her __**birthday**__, Ian," Garrett argued with half-hearted disapproval, picking apart the crust from his sandwich. He did not elaborate on the explanation, however. He knew better. _

_And for good reason. Ian was already leaning over the table to challenge his friend, looking irritated that he had disagreed with him. _

"_And I had a romantic night planned for her," he insisted waspishly. "But she ruined it because she's a prude." _

_Toby could feel his nostrils flare involuntarily as he strode up to the table. Garrett was the first to notice him, his eyes widening at his arrival. This somehow accelerated his adrenaline rush as he flipped an empty chair around, straddling it casually. _

"_Hey, Ian," he greeted nonchalantly. "How are the blue balls treating you today?" _

_Ian squared his jaw in indignation, purposely ignoring the way that Garrett had choked into his drink with laughter. "She's not here anymore," he responded simply. "So I don't have anyone to hold me back from kicking your ass." _

_Toby shrugged noncommittally. "I spend my days laying brick and lifting hundred-pound construction supplies," he began. "That's not to say you're not welcome to __**try**__, but, just know that I'm not as helpless as one of your AV Club geeks." _

_Ian rolled his eyes melodramatically. "Don't test me, Cavanaugh." _

"_How does it feel, by the way?" Toby asked, mockingly rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. "Knowing that the most action you get is in your own room, late at night, twiddling your pencil dick all by your lonesome?"_

_Garrett was hiding his face in his hands, his body shaking with silent laughter. Ian was shooting daggers at his friend, aghast at his disloyalty. _

"_Anyway," Toby started coldly, standing from his chair and lowering his face toward Ian's. His opponent stared him down, his gray-blue eyes flashing furiously at Toby's audacity. "If you try to make her do something she doesn't want to do, I will personally neuter you myself. Is that clear?" _

_Ian's face flickered for only a brief second, his stony expression returning as soon as it had vanished. Toby didn't give him a chance to reply; he was already slinging his jacket over his shoulder and making his way to the door. _

"_Shut __**up**__, Garrett," Ian growled derisively from somewhere behind him. _

_Toby smirked to himself as he left the restaurant and hopped back into his car. He couldn't be sure, but he had a pretty good idea of where he would be able to find her. _

_He drove a few minutes to the local playground, putting his car into park just as the sun began to dip into the expansive horizon. He made his way up the path, a small dusk chill passing over his arms as his eyes roved the park equipment. _

_There she was. Sitting pensively on a swing, rotating her body back and forth ever-so-slightly by digging her heels into the sand. He silently took the swing beside hers, his eyes trained on the sunset in front of them. She briefly regarded him with a glance before following his gaze. It was one of the many instances where words weren't necessary. _

"_I went to the restaurant," he declared shortly. "You weren't there." _

"_Ian and I got into a fight," she explained, her voice raspier than usual. "I didn't want to be around him anymore." _

"_You're a saint for being around him at __**all**__," Toby chuckled darkly. _

_She looked at him with impatient pleading, asking wordlessly for him to withhold his judgment. He cleared his throat. "Sorry." _

_The silence befell them once more, both of them studying the incredible pink and purple hues that the setting sun was casting on surrounding clouds. Another breeze swept through the air and she shuddered involuntarily. _

_He was shrugging off his jacket before even thinking about it. "Here," he declared, using his feet to pull his swing closer to hers and drape it over her shoulders. She smiled sadly in gratitude, holding it closed at her chest with one hand. _

"_Do you think I'm pretty, Toby?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. _

"_Of course I do," he answered honestly. "You're very pretty." _

_She was chewing on her lower lip now, eyes trained on the ground in front of her. "Sometimes Ian makes me feel like I can't do any better than him." _

"_Ian is a dick," Toby blurted before he could stop himself. "You could have anyone you want." _

_She brought her gaze back to him, silent tears clinging to her dark eyelashes. "Would you wait for me?" _

"_What do you mean?" _

"_If we were dating and I was a…virgin." She said the last word with quiet embarrassment, as though she were uttering a curse word. "Would you wait until I was ready?" _

_He inhaled sharply, uncertain about her meaning. "Spencer…"_

"_No, I know, it's weird to think about me like that," she interrupted hastily. "Just…pretend that we're not best friends. Just for a second." Her mocha eyes locked into his azure ones once more, mingling together to create some remote beach landscape of sand and water. "Would you?"_

_He gazed at her earnest expression, seeing that she was desperate for him to remove himself from the situation long enough to answer. At last he nodded quietly. "Yeah. Yeah, you should wait for someone you really love." _

_She exhaled shakily at his reply, as though feeling torn between relief and confusion at his answer. When she spoke, her words were almost inaudible. "I thought so."_

_The last of the sun disappeared behind an expanse of trees in the distance, casting another gust of wind over the playground. Her hair got caught in its wake, dancing precariously around her face in wisps. "Some goddamn birthday," she muttered. _

_He couldn't help but chuckle at her remark, surprised to hear her swear. She didn't do it very often. She, too, was soon giggling in spite of herself. Nothing about the situation was remotely funny, but it felt better to laugh than to cry._

_When their morbid mirth began to die down, he reached out to quietly grasp her free hand, squeezing her fingers. It was little comfort, he knew, but he hated to see her so sad on the one day of the year that she was supposed to be happy._

_She smiled somberly down at their innocent embrace, squeezing back after a beat. _

"_Happy birthday, Spence." _

* * *

He had a plan.

It had occurred to him on a whim, the developments of which were still formulating in his brain even after he had made the declaration.

It would take up a majority of the day, and therefore, hopefully, serve to adequately distract her from the world crumbling around her. The hardships would still be there tomorrow – but for today, he wanted her to focus on her own happiness.

Her eyes had lit up at his announcement, her mouth adorning a giddy smile of excitement. She had practically leapt out of the bed to do as told, skipping anxiously to the bathroom without hesitation.

She never ceased to amaze him. After everything that had happened as of late, he would have expected her to be a shell of her former self, broken and torn at the seams. It was how he would have been, had he gone through everything that she had. Instead, the fire he had grown to love so dearly over the years continued to flare up unexpectedly every now and then, reminding him that it took more than that to crack Spencer Hastings.

He had whisked himself away to get everything ready for the first event of the day while she was in the shower. It hadn't taken much time, admittedly, and was rather easy to put together. She had periodically peeked through the bathroom door to investigate what he was up to. And each time, he _shooed_ her back in.

"I'm not an idiot!" she called laughingly from behind the barrier that separated them. "I can smell food."

"Consider it your only hint, then," he returned, the sound of the sizzling bacon only giving him away further.

When everything was set, he allowed her to step out of the bathroom under the condition that she kept her eyes closed. He put both hands over her eyes from behind, just for good measure, as he led her outside onto the porch.

"I hate surprises," she whined. "You know that."

"No, you don't," he countered. "You just hate waiting."

"That, too," she chuckled, holding out both hands in front of her to ensure they wouldn't be running into anything. When she felt the warm springtime breeze hit her arms, she clicked her tongue thoughtfully. "What are we doing out here?"

"You'll see," he sing-songed cryptically. She was clutching onto his wrists now in front of her face.

"I swear to God, if you let me fall down those stairs…"

"You've _got _to learn to trust me," he laughed. He led her over to the blanket he had laid out, and instructed her to sit. She did as told, her eyes still squeezed shut impatiently.

He settled down next to her, letting out one final heavy exhale. "All right. Open."

Her eyelashes darted upward as she did so, her face a picture of unabashed excitement. It was moments like this, where her inner child surfaced, that warmed his heart most. It brought him back to days of his past that he hadn't even realized he could remember, watching her gleefully discover new adventures for them to embark on.

"A picnic?" she surmised instantly, assessing the plates of food before her. Her grin quickly spread from one ear to the other.

"Do you remember the time that our parents took us to the swimming hole, and we commandeered the picnic basket for ourselves?" he asked, unable to mask a chuckle.

She tossed her head back in laughter, the memory taking her away to some distant place. "My mom was furious. We ate _all_ of those sandwiches."

"We were _nine_," he countered, delighting in the way her eyes were sparkling with recollection. "We ate _everything_. Besides, you insisted that we share with the geese."

She was shaking her head in amusement now, a tiny smile playing at her lips. "Those geese didn't leave me alone for the rest of the day, either."

They both laughed quietly as they pictured those much smaller and more innocent versions of themselves, hidden surreptitiously behind the Kissing Rock before they even knew what it was. They had both been so anxious to grow up for so long that by the time it actually happened, they were so blind-sided by sudden responsibility that those days quickly disappeared into some vague oblivion of memory. The days where having a picnic with your best friend didn't make any boyfriends jealous – the days when college applications and actual homework assignments were nothing more than some indiscernible blip on the radar of the future.

The days where they understood so little about male-female dynamics that a Kissing Rock was no more than a jungle gym to traverse.

"I would have planned for it to be somewhere more…exciting," he began apologetically, "but I didn't exactly have much time with you breathing down my neck."

She playfully slapped at his arm, her coffee-colored eyes catching a glint of the sun's rays.

"Right here is just fine," she said quietly. "It's sweet."

There was a moment in which they both assessed each other silently, eyes locked in a staring contest. These occasions seemed to be occurring more frequently now, and he had somehow begun to come to terms with them. They made him far less uncomfortable than they had a few short days ago.

Nevertheless, he was the first to break it, clearing his throat as he began to load a plate for her.

"For your dining pleasure," he began dramatically, "we have eggs – scrambled, of course, your favorite…Bacon, extra crispy…and pancakes with extra syrup."

Her lips were pursed into a tightly squeezed smile, as though she'd burst if she didn't fight to suppress her excitement. She eagerly reached for the plate he presented to her.

"How do you remember things like that?" she mused, a degree of impressiveness infiltrating her tone.

"It's hard to forget when you spend your whole life with someone," he replied earnestly, watching as the last of the cumulus clouds began to roll away into nothingness. The sky was almost entirely clear now.

She pulled an indignant face. "I know people who are _married _that don't know _this _much about each other."

"Well," he began pensively, "I suppose when you meet your soul mate so late in life, you're already so focused on being an adult that the little things don't stick the way they do when you're a kid."

She peered at him from beneath her dark lashes, her expression perplexed. He didn't blame her – the statement had been laced with far more ambiguous nuance than he had intended.

"So." He plastered a grin on his face to deflect any potential discomfort on her part. "I have the whole day planned out for us, and I have to say, it's going to be pretty epic."

Spencer smirked in reply as she nibbled on a piece of bacon. "Pretty confident, aren't we?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."

Her expression melted suddenly, a look of nervous uncertainty grazing her features. He hoped that he hadn't said anything to freak her out. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can we make a detour?"

"Absolutely," he allowed. "A detour for what?"

"Well…Ryan is with Maya today," she began slowly, and Toby hoped that he was successful in hiding his disapproval. This was supposed to be the one week per month that Ryan spent with Ian – and he seemed to be with Maya far more often than he was with his own father. "I'd like to stop by and see him."

"Not a problem," Toby agreed. "We'll pack up whatever leftovers we have and take them over."

She rotated her body to lean into him briefly in an armless hug, gazing up at him with heartfelt appreciation as she pulled back.

"I wish more guys I dated could be like you," she said. "Most of them run screaming for the hills when all of the skeletons in my closet come rattling out."

It was his turn to be puzzled at the potential hidden meaning behind her statement. She didn't give him much time to process it, however, as she planted a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you. For everything."

* * *

The drive to Maya's wasn't long. Spencer had called ahead of time to alert her to their arrival, and as a result, Ryan was anxiously waiting on the front deck when they pulled in.

"Mommy!" he cried, breaking away from the young woman who had been clinging to his hand. He launched himself down the stairs and into her embrace, flinging his tiny arms around her neck.

"Hi, baby," she said happily, stroking the back of his neck. "What are you and Auntie Maya doing today?"

"We were making cookies!" Ryan replied excitedly as she set him back on the ground, his hand shooting up to grasp onto her fingers. "Come see!"

She allowed him to lead her into the house, an unprecedented smile decorating her features. Toby could not help but watch her fondly as he slowly stepped onto the porch, regarding Maya with a kind smile. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little bit confused about the pretty Black woman standing before him and her exact relation to Ian.

"Hi," he greeted politely, reaching out to shake the woman's hand. "I'm Toby."

"Maya," she provided as she accepted his gesture. "I'm Ian's step-sister."

He chuckled to himself as the pieces fell into place. "That explains some stuff."

She laughed light-heartedly in agreement. "We get that a lot. Our parents just got married a couple of years ago."

That would also clarify why he hadn't known her in school.

"C'mon in," she began, stepping aside to allow him entrance. He crossed the threshold into the living room just in time to have Ryan nearly bowl him over.

"Do you want a cookie, Toby?" he asked brightly, his hazel eyes dancing with unabashed excitement.

Toby kneeled down to regard the child properly. "I would love a cookie."

No sooner had he said it than Ryan was sprinting back into the kitchen to his mother. Toby peeked over his shoulder to see Maya looking on appreciatively at the display.

"You're very nice to do so much for him when you haven't known Ian very long," Toby decided.

Maya smiled as she began to clear some of the toys from the floor, her arms filling up in no time. "He's a good kid. And – between you and me – my brother could use some pointers from someone who actually _likes_ kids."

Toby watched her quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He didn't want to cross any boundaries with what he planned to ask next. "Ian doesn't really do the 'dad' thing, does he?"

"No," Maya replied earnestly. "But it's his own fault for not trying."

He was opening his mouth to ask more about Ryan's relationship with Ian when he and Spencer returned from the kitchen. Ryan was bolting toward Toby with the promised cookie, presenting it proudly.

"Chocolate chip," Toby quipped. "My favorite."

"Spencer," Maya declared suddenly. Toby raised his eyes to see her darting between furniture to stand at Spencer's side, both hands flying to Spencer's face. "What happened?"

Spencer smiled ruefully. "Nothing. I fell."

The lie was like a lashing against Toby's bare skin. He didn't like it in the slightest – but Spencer would never drag Maya into this, for fear that she would feel the need to pick sides. It was very 'Spencer' of her – and he knew her well enough to understand the thought process behind it.

"It looks terrible!" Maya stated maternally. "Have you put anything on it?"

"Mmhmm," Spencer murmured noncommittally. She was stepping away now to join Ryan on the floor, desperate to change the subject.

Toby was staring her down disapprovingly. She seemed to sense his gaze, for her eyes met his for a brief moment, pleading silently to keep his mouth shut.

He was knocked from his reverie by the sound of the door opening behind him. Ian was stepping into the house.

"Hey, Mai, sorry I'm late, I got caught in some traffic on…" He trailed off all of a sudden, looking back and forth between Spencer and Toby as he hesitantly entered the living room.

"That's fine," Maya said, gathering the last of the toys on the floor and dropping them into a nearby toy box. She had not looked up to pay heed to the tension in the room. "No rush."

Ian took a step forward, his eyes locking with Toby's for a moment. There was some degree of hatred there, but more than anything was the glaring warning. He was silently daring him to take a shot.

At last, he broke contact to address his son. "Hey, Ryan," he said with the most gentleness a person like Ian could possess. He was clearly choosing to ignore their presence. "You almost ready to go, buddy?"

"Just about," Maya intervened. She still seemed oblivious to the dynamic shift among the other three adults. "We still have to pack up a few of his things."

"Can you help me, Mommy?" Ryan pleaded, reaching out to take her hand. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, a look of worry etched in her features at the prospect of leaving the two of them alone, as she and Maya followed Ryan to his room.

It was just Toby and Ian now.

A very uncomfortable moment passed.

"That little stunt you pulled last night…with the phone call," Ian began dangerously, arching an eyebrow in Toby's direction. "That won't fly again. You need to remember your place, Cavanaugh. I'm willing to let it go, just this once, but…"

"Oh, _thank_ you," Toby declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was _so concerned _that I had hurt your feelings."

Ian was stepping irritably toward him now. Toby matched his pace and soon they were practically nose-to-nose.

"Don't test me," Ian hissed. "My family is none of your business."

"It is when you're hurting her," Toby disagreed. "I told you once a long time ago, and I will tell you again – I will do anything to protect her. _Anything."_

Ian smirked, the expression somehow devoid of any actual emotion. "You _do_ want to get in her pants, don't you?"

Toby fought tooth and nail not to flinch at this statement. "It's not like that."

"Sure it is," Ian argued. "I should probably let you know though – she's too much for you to handle in bed."

Toby put one hand on each of Ian's shoulders and shoved – hard. He was caught so off-guard that he stumbled backward into an end table, barely catching the lamp that threatened to teeter off. His head shot up like some morbid real-life Jack-In-The-Box, looking ferociously shocked at Toby's gall. The vulnerability in his expression was gone as soon as it had arrived, and he was marching back toward Toby, massaging his knuckles –

"Daddy, I'm ready!" Ryan announced, barreling around the corner. Spencer and Maya were quick on his heels. The way that they both froze hesitantly at the end of the hallway made it clear that they understood precisely what had been about to happen.

Nobody spoke. The only movement in the room was Ryan hopping over to his father, stopping to spin in a few random circles on his way. Likewise, the only sound was his subsequent humming. '_I'm A Little Tea Pot_,' it sounded like. It was like some unintentionally comedic moment in the midst of a dramatic film. If Toby didn't know better, he thought it might be one of those instances that they chose to look back on and laugh at, many, many years from now. But somehow he knew that this would never be funny – not to Spencer, and not to him.

He chanced a glance at her. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line of disappointment, and he knew instantaneously that he had upset her.

Ian was the first one to break the awkward silence. He very slowly turned his eyes away from Toby, as if daring him to try anything else, before regarding his son.

"All right, buddy, let's get going."

"Bye, sweetie," Spencer said, blowing a kiss in Ryan's direction. The little boy melodramatically returned the gesture, and it was so undeniably adorable that it looked as though it belonged in a commercial.

As soon as they had disappeared out the door, Spencer rounded on Toby.

"What _was_ that?" she hissed. It didn't seem to bother her that Maya was listening in.

"Nothing," Toby dismissed coldly. "Nothing at all."

She gave him an imperceptible shake of her head, narrowing her eyes, as though to say that she didn't believe him.

"C'mon," he urged, putting on his best charming smile in an effort to distract her. "We've got to get going."

After a brief goodbye to Maya, she grumpily followed him out.

She gave him the silent treatment for the entire duration of the car ride, her head in her hand as she gazed peevishly out the window at the scenery as they passed.

He didn't want to push it. Instead, he turned the knob of the radio to increase the volume of the music. At least it would crack the uncomfortable hush, if nothing else.

When they arrived at their destination, she slowly sat up, her eyes changing from darkness to hesitant wonder. She seemed to be struggling to maintain her anger, even as he hopped out of the car and propped her door open. He slung one arm over the window, sighing defeatedly.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he began sincerely. "That guy just gets my blood going."

"I know he does," she said quietly, her eyes flickering away from his. "But you're better than him, Toby."

An inexplicable wave of warmth crashed into him at the statement, simple though it was.

"Let's just forget it," he decided, reaching his hand inside to help her out of the car. She smiled softly in spite of herself, taking the proffered assistance. "Today is about putting all of that aside. At least for a while."

"I can't remember the last time I went to a carnival," she said candidly, pushing her hair impatiently from her face to gaze up at the monumental Ferris Wheel. A breeze brought the scent of elephant ears and cotton candy to their noses, and she hummed happily.

"That's why we're here."

She looked at the ground for a minute before raising her eyes to his, affection in their chocolate depths.

"If I haven't said it in so many words before…" she began quietly. She trailed off precariously, as though unsure of whether she should continue.

"I know," he said simply.

She smiled at him one last time, pausing for only a moment before she seized him by the wrist and began to drag him toward the ticket booth.


	12. Crash Into Me

_**A/N:** This one is a freaking doozy. I apologize ahead of time for the length, (or perhaps some of you prefer the length. I don't know), but I did not feel comfortable chopping it anywhere. I thought about it very heavily - but in the end, I think creating a break would interrupt the core of what happens. _

_IT WAS SO DIFFICULT TO WRITE. As in, I really struggled making it sound authentic. Oddly enough, the last scene was the easiest one...when it probably should have been the hardest. Dunno. _

_Mike is mentioned in this chapter - no relation to the original character. _

_Okay, I hope you have like 15 solid minutes set aside for this one!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

_Summer was coming to an unceremonious close. _

_The days had begun to shorten in slight once more, the latter half of August bringing earlier nights and later dawns. He had always hated this time of the year – it was like some depressing reminder that life had to surge on, regardless of whether he was ready to face it or not. _

_And this was a particularly daunting summer. High school had been over for two months, and he had signed an advance lease at an apartment in Philadelphia, where he would attend community college. He had enough saved up to pay for his first semester of tuition and rent, and planned to get a better-paying job once he was in the city. _

_He was moving in two days. And somehow it still hadn't quite sunk in yet. _

_He was sitting on the back porch of his parents' house in a lawn chair, flipping through his latest novel of choice under the illumination of the porch light. It was the typical hero story. A man who stood up against evil, despite all the odds, and got the girl in the end. He typically didn't appreciate this sort of drivel, but it had been recommended to him by someone at work. He made a mental note to slip laxatives into their coffee the next time he saw them, as a 'thank you' for making him waste three hours of his life. _

_A crashing sound from the next yard over startled him, and he was on his feet in an instant, squinting his eyes to get a good look at the Hastings house. _

"_Hello?" he called loudly as he grabbed a nearby propane tank as a potential weapon, hoping that he was emulating his best voice of intimidation. He wanted to ensure that nobody was trying to break in. _

_Spencer startled him so severely that he literally jumped backward. She stumbled out of the shadows, giggling profusely to herself. She raised a finger to her lips with one large, sweeping gesture. "Shhh, you'll wake them up!" _

"_Spencer?" he demanded brashly, replacing the tank on the porch. "Are you drunk?" _

"_Nooo," she slurred, batting away his words like a pesky mosquito. "I only had…umm…this many!"_

_He couldn't see how many fingers she was holding up in the dark, but the fact that it required two hands tipped him off. He was quickly descending the stairs now to approach her, about which she squealed happily. _

"_Toby!" she declared, as if really seeing him for the first time tonight. _

_He recoiled a bit at the stench of her whiskey breath, steadying her as she almost fell once more. _

"_Is someone home, Spence?"_

"_Nope!" she said, shaking her head so wildly that her hair fluttered around her face. _

"_Where are your keys?"_

"_I'm not sure," she sputtered, bringing a thoughtful finger to her chin. "Probably somewhere in the river."_

"_The riv – !" he began in stunned disbelief before stopping himself. He took a deep breath to calm his frustration. "Where do your parents keep the spare?" _

"_One of these," she said, gesturing lazily to the pots lining the back porch. Just as his eyes fell on the mess of a shattered fern, she giggled. "I think I broke one." _

"_All right," he muttered supportively, more to soothe himself than her. Taking care of drunk people always made him a bit crabby. He began rummaging under some of the other plant life, fumbling around for the key._

"_Do you think it's in plant heaven?" she asked through an invasive hiccup. _

"_Yes, Spencer. Plant heaven," he said, with an air of a parent growing irritated with a child. At long last he found the necessary piece of metal beneath the potted rose bush. "Here we go." _

"_My hero!" she squeaked, throwing her arms into the air triumphantly. _

_After some effort, he pushed the door open. She was criss-crossing her way into the kitchen, wobbling precariously on her high heels. He bolted after her just in time to catch her from careening into the dining room table. _

_She was clutching at her temple unpleasantly now, a wince on her face. "Is my head supposed to hurt this bad?" _

"_It's called a hangover. You're just starting early." Without another word, he swept her up into his arms bridal style and headed for the stairs. It would save much more time this way, rather than slowly guiding her up the steps on foot. _

_He gently kicked the door open to her bedroom, plopping her down on the mattress. She was squeezing her eyes shut, her face a mask of drunken confusion. _

"_I'm sorry I haven't talked to you," she said suddenly, flinging her feet with such vigor that he had to dodge a rogue high heel flying toward him. "Ian says I can't have guy friends anymore." _

"_It's okay," he said easily, though he didn't quite mean it. They had hardly said two words to each other since graduation in June, and it was probably the longest he had ever gone without seeing her. _

"_He thinks you want to have sex with me," she mumbled, followed by a dramatic raspberry. _

_He rolled his eyes. "I have to tell you, Spence, you're not making me like him any better." He took her by the shoulders, helping her lean back against the pillows. She reached unsuccessfully for the blankets at her feet, whimpering hopelessly as she discovered how far away they actually were. He sighed and pulled them up to her waist. _

"_You hate me," she groaned, slamming her fists down beside her on the mattress. "I hate when you hate me." _

"_I don't hate you, Spencer." _

"_Yes, you do," she insisted. She pouted in his direction, reaching out to pat at his cheek. There was so much alcohol-induced zeal that it felt more like he was being slapped several times in a row. "You have a nice mouth." _

_He winced. "Thanks." _

"_No, really," she continued, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "You're pretty hot, Toby." _

_He couldn't help but chuckle. "That's the whiskey goggles talking." _

"_No!" she declared in frustration, annoyed that he was deflecting her. "You don't understand." _

"_Okay," he conceded nonchalantly. "I don't understand." _

_She swept a hand through his sandy hair, curling her fingers around the nape of his neck. "Do you ever think about kissing me?" _

_The question was so unexpected that Toby had to remind himself to breathe. _

"_No," he answered honestly. "I don't think of you like that." _

"_Ian says you do," she argued. _

"_Ian is on crack." _

_There was a pause. _

"_Sometimes I wish we weren't as close as we are," she murmured seriously. "We would make pretty babies." _

_He laughed outright at that one. The thought was so monumentally ridiculous that he couldn't contain himself. _

"_Stop laughing," she whined petulantly. _

"_Sorry." _

_She cocked her head at him, sadness glistening in her eyes, visible even in the darkness of her room. _

"_I wish Ian was more like you." _

_He studied her face, caught off-guard by the confession. Her eyes were fluttering shut now as she was overcome with exhaustion._

"_I'm sorry we haven't talked," she repeated, nigh inaudibly. With that, her head lolled to the side, and she was out like a light. _

_He wasn't sure if she remembered the conversation, and he never got the opportunity to ask her. _

_That was the last night he ever saw her. _

* * *

The sun was slowly falling in the sky by the time he finished up at the cotton candy cart, jogging back to where he had left Spencer at the picnic table. Her eyes lit up at the treat in his hands, and she thanked him with a wide grin.

"Oh, dear sweet cavities," she mused jokingly. "How I've missed you."

Toby chuckled as they began a slow walk down the path, eyes occasionally flickering to the exuberant lights dancing on the rides and booths alongside them. Spencer mumbled incoherently through a mouthful of cotton candy, reaching out to grab at Toby's arm.

"It's almost sunset," she declared, excitement evident in her features. "Almost Ferris Wheel time."

It had been the first ride that he had looked at upon their arrival, but she had insisted that they save it.

"You know, if you want to go on it so badly, we can just go now," he explained, gesturing to the limited crowd at the gate. "There's hardly a line."

"No," she protested, shaking her head fervently. "It's so much better when it's dark." She was looking wistfully up at the apex of the wheel, a far-off expression in her eyes. "There's nothing more empowering than looking over the edge of the cart and seeing the city below…being so close to Heaven that you could kiss the stars."

On the surface, it was quite possibly the corniest thing he had ever heard; but somehow, coming from her mouth, it sounded like poetry.

She seemed to read his mind, for a sheepish smile tickled her lips only moments after she had spoken. She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, glancing down at her feet as she walked.

He chuckled. "That's cute."

She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth in a pseudo-flirtatious manner. His heart inexplicably skipped a beat, and he averted his eyes quickly.

"So," he began innocuously. "Maya seems nice."

Her eyes narrowed in slight, as if trying to determine whether the change of subject was better than what had been transpiring before it. She pulled a piece of pink cotton from the stick in her hand, looking at it thoughtfully before replying.

"Yeah," she said. "She's really good with Ryan."

"She said her and Ian's parents just got married recently."

She nodded, popping the torn piece into her mouth. "Her dad, his mom. Couple years ago."

He chanced a sidelong glance at her, hoping the topic of choice wasn't rattling any cages.

"She, uh…Doesn't seem to know a whole lot about him."

She shrugged casually. So far so good.

"Yeah. For some reason he's ten times nicer to her than anyone else in his life." She pulled a distasteful face. "I try not to involve her in any of this."

They were interrupted when a group of children, no older than ten, scampered between them. Toby jumped out of the way to allow them through, laughing a bit to himself as his eyes followed their retreating figures. They were racing for something – something that would assuredly make their nights worthwhile.

He wondered briefly when he had stopped racing for things. When instead of looking forward, he began to insist on looking back.

He wasn't sure if she was thinking the same thing, but he caught her longingly watching them, as well. Her eyes caught a brief glimmer of the sign adorning the Strong Man game display, and she abruptly turned back.

"Why did you stay with Ian for as long as you did?" he asked suddenly, before he could stop himself.

He was sure she would blow up at him. She looked tempted to, for a split second, her gaze flashing wildly in his direction.

But she did not.

"Because," she started quietly. "I loved him."

The silence settled between them for a moment, punctuated only by the music playing nearby and the raucous screams of children. Her brief and succinct answer gave him the instinct that he shouldn't push it, but he had never been very good about following gut feelings.

"Why?" he murmured. "He was terrible to you most of the time."

"But not _all _the time," she insisted, her toffee eyes trained somewhere in the distance – somewhere far beyond the Showplace parking lot that hosted the fair. Perhaps she was peeking into a portal to the past, much like he had found himself doing lately. "He could be sweet when he wanted to. And I hung in because those moments – the ones when he let me see into his soul – they were special."

He cocked an eyebrow, though he was sure she couldn't see him.

"You know that whole saying about how women end up with men like their fathers?" she mused quietly.

"Yeah…"

"Well," she said matter-of-factly, breathing a defeated sigh. "He was a lot like my dad in some ways. Physically or emotionally absent half the time. But I always looked forward to seeing my dad, anyway. Because each time he came home, I hoped it would be one of those special days where I was the center of his world."

"But that's like playing Russian Roulette," Toby countered. "You never knew which personality he was going to show up with."

"Maybe so," she breathed. "But when it was just blanks firing, I felt like a princess."

She tossed the empty cotton candy stick into a nearby waste bin, slowing her pace to a hesitant stop. He followed suit, hands in his pockets, as he listened with bated breath. She was opening up more about Ian than she ever had, and he was not about to say something that would ruin it.

"It sounds strange," she continued, her voice low. "But it got to the point – with both of them – that the bad days just started feeling like something else to conquer. Like, if I tried hard enough, I could really make them happy. Proud."

"You shouldn't have to try so hard," he said softly.

She nodded hastily. "No, I know that now. But back then I was so hung up on proving everybody wrong about Ian – proving _myself _wrong – that before I knew it, I was in way too deep to just back out."

There was a brief pause as he allowed this to sink in.

"It sounds like you found a handle on all of this," he observed.

She chuckled darkly, a stray breeze blowing a lock of hair into her face. "Yeah, with lots of therapy."

He didn't ask her to elaborate. But, nevertheless, she felt comfortable to do so.

"When I got pregnant, my emotions were all over the place. I was literally laughing hysterically one minute and sobbing uncontrollably the next. There were a lot of deep-seated things beneath the surface…Things I had fought so hard to bury. The hormones pulled all of that out."

"So when did you stop…_being_ with him?"

She tried to smile, but it fell short of reaching her eyes. "Right after I got to Yale. Putting that distance between us – it helped me figure a lot out."

He furrowed his brow, perplexed about the math. "Were you pregnant when you started school?"

Her lips pursed together into a thin line. She looked embarrassed. "No. I came home one weekend – mid-September – and he had been calling me off the hook. Saying he wanted to talk." She folded her arms at her chest. "One Margarita led to another, and…"

She didn't finish. He found himself grateful that she didn't give specifics on the gory details.

"Anyway," she said dismissively. "I moved back in with my parents after the first semester ended…took some time off. It got really unbearable really fast, what with my parents wanting Melissa to adopt Ryan…and I knew I'd need my own place."

"The loft?"

She nodded. "Yeah. But being a single parent without a college degree made it next to impossible to manage. So when Jason's lease expired, I practically begged him to move in with me so I could have some help."

He thought all of this over for a moment, letting the appropriate pieces of the puzzle lock into place. There was an undeniable weight being lifted from his shoulders as light was shed on these burning questions, only to be replaced by a brand new burden.

She had left Ian. She had almost gotten away from his poisonous existence. But then Ryan…

She seemed to be going through a similar thought process, a vivid darkness apparent behind her eyes. As soon as she noticed him looking at her, however, she shook it off with a smile. "Ryan is the best thing that ever happened to me, though. So as much as everything else sucks, I wouldn't take that weekend back for anything."

As much as it pained him to admit, he understood. He had seen the way she looked adoringly at her son, and knew instinctively that he was what held her together.

She had started walking again, and he found himself mindlessly following. The sun had dipped halfway into the horizon during their discussion, and the pastel hues of refracted light that danced around it were mesmerizing.

"What about you?"

He shook his head dazedly at the question, entirely blindsided by it. He hadn't seen the conversation coming where they would have to talk about _him_.

"What _about _me?"

She rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. "You know all my deep, dark secrets of the past four years. I know next to nothing about what you've been up to."

The realization was sobering. He had been so focused on helping her get all of her ducks in a row that he hadn't considered the fact that his life may be at all interesting to her.

"Well," he started, taking a deep breath. "I moved out here mid-August after our senior year. Already had the lease signed for my apartment a couple weeks before that. Got the job at the dealership a couple months later…started going to school part-time that winter…just finished a semester a couple weeks ago," He shrugged helplessly. "My life has been pretty uneventful since you last saw me."

"What about dating?" she ventured coyly, briefly leaning into him as they walked to get a good look at his flushed face. "Or are you still all 'anti-girlfriend'?"

He laughed sheepishly, rubbing at an imaginary itch on the nape of his neck. "Everything has been pretty casual. Nothing worth sharing."

"Hmm," she murmured quietly, narrowing her eyes at him as if trying to read between the lines. "Think you'll ever change your mind about all of that?"

He hadn't been asked that question in a long time. Most people had just given up on expecting him to change his response. The answer had always been so cut and dry, slipping from his mouth without a second thought.

But now he found himself teetering precariously on the fence, wondering when the hell that had happened.

The feeling that followed was like diving into the ocean without a lifejacket. He had always prided himself on being an expert on his own mind, and here he was – baffled at his own speechlessness.

"Maybe," he said earnestly. "I guess it depends on the woman."

She paused to gaze up at him, the dynamic of her expression changing. There was something foreign in her eyes – something that seemed to glow with its own light, illuminating the amber highlights in those two russet pools. He was surprised that he had never noticed just how many layers there were beneath her lashes.

But that look she was giving him…was he imagining things? Was it…? No. That was ridiculous.

They were unmercifully interrupted by the carnival worker over her shoulder, who was waving a miniature toy gun over his head. "Step right up! Step right up!" His eyes fell on Toby, and he pointed the barrel in his direction. "How about you, sir? I'm sure your lovely lady would love for you to win her a prize!"

"She _is _a prize," he replied, a teasing smirk curling his lip upright. This earned him a playful punch in his shoulder from Spencer, who looked hilariously aghast at the cheesy joke.

"You're just saying that so you don't have to lose in front of me," she taunted flirtatiously, grabbing his wrist and skipping toward the game booth. "C'mon. Let's see you in action."

"Three bulls-eyes, and you win a prize." The worker – Mike, his nametag read – handed the gun over to Toby in exchange for a handful of tickets.

Toby sighed, peering at Spencer over his shoulder. "You know I'm no good at these games, right?"

She had her hands clasped in front of her face, a wicked grin plastered on her mouth.

"I know."

The targets inside the tent started moving rapidly back and forth. The bulls-eye spots were barely visible, just a whirring blur of red, and he remembered how much he hated carnival games.

Toby took aim with the useless piece of plastic, and –

'_DING_!'

He was so alarmed by his own accidental skill that he almost forgot to continue paying attention.

Another round passed by, seemingly moving faster than they had been before. He fired off a couple imaginary bullets, both hopelessly off-target. He lifted the tiny gun closer to his shoulder, and –

'_DING_!'

Spencer was anxiously waiting beside him now, her warm hand on the small of his back. Her touch made him so momentarily dizzy, that he missed several times in a row.

"You almost have it, Toby," she said supportively. "Just one more."

The excitement in her voice was almost more than he could stand. Suddenly, he wanted to win. _Needed_ to win. She was impressed with him – was rooting for him.

And everything else be damned – it made him feel _good_.

He had never had the useless masculine drive to win – not like Ian, or Garrett, or any of those guys that got that specific rush from being on sports teams.

But now, he could think of nothing else.

He inhaled and exhaled carefully, noticing the countdown clock out of the corner of his eye. Three seconds.

He squinted his eyes, trying to hone in on that ridiculously small red spot...

'_DING_!'

His arms flew into the air triumphantly, and she was hugging his middle in an instant. He reached down to return the gun across the counter with one hand, the other finding its home deep within her curls.

"Congratulations," Mike stated. "Now what would your lovely girlfriend like?"

She pulled away from him sheepishly, giving a short little shake of her head. "No, I'm not his – "

"How about that blue teddy bear?" Toby interrupted. He wasn't quite sure why he cut her off like he did. Maybe it was because of the way Mike was eyeing her inappropriately.

Or maybe it was the fact that he sort of liked the idea of someone calling her that.

Either way, she didn't continue to insist any differently. She was reaching out for the teddy bear happily, hugging it to her chest with one arm. That simple expression of joy was so intoxicating that he suddenly felt the urge to do it again. She was the sort of girl who deserved to be showered with gifts.

As they began to walk away, her hand brushed precariously against his. Without quite thinking about it, he interlaced his fingers through hers. Her touch was warm and her palm was soft against his calloused skin. If she thought it was an odd gesture, she did not indicate it.

He saw now that the sun had at last found its final resting place for the night, and the carnival was alive with a million glittering lights. He caught a whiff of elephant ears on the air, and hummed contentedly.

"You ready for the Ferris Wheel now?" he asked.

She grinned, her head bobbing in a short nod. Clinging to his hand, she began to eagerly lead the way.

The line was luckily still short. They only had to wait a minute or two for an empty cart to cycle down to them, and the carnival worker was opening the gate. Toby held her hand to keep her steady as she climbed in, about which she chuckled.

"Such a gentleman," she declared with a wink.

"I try," he laughed. Within seconds, he was settled in beside her on the horrendously uncomfortable plastic seat, and they were on their way up.

The sudden jerking movement caused his stomach to flip flop inside his body, and he found himself clinging to the wall beside him. She eyed him out of her peripherals, an amused smile on her face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure I've mentioned," he began uncertainly, "but I'm a little afraid of heights."

This was too much for her to handle. She was laughing heartily to herself, clearly entertained by his weakness.

"I can't believe I didn't know that about you," she mused.

He winced. "Kind of a new thing. I fell off some scaffolding one the last days on that construction job…was never able to get my bearings back."

"Aww," she said with a teasing frown, reaching over to take his free hand. She held it tightly in her lap, as if trying to send good vibes through their embrace. "Well, I'll be sure to protect you."

He chuckled quietly in spite of himself, careful to keep his eyes in the cart. Maybe if he didn't look down, he wouldn't be so frightened.

…But what he realized after a beat was that what was happening inside the cart was every bit as terrifying.

She was peering anxiously over the side, clearly delighted by the decreasing size of the people and cars beneath. The glow of the carnival lights danced across her smooth porcelain face, illuminating her smile like she was a delicate goddess. He knew he shouldn't stare, but he couldn't help himself. She was far too beautiful for a person to _willingly_ look away from her.

Her eyes caught his mid-stare, and her expression softened in slight. As the Ferris Wheel came to a halt, their car swung back and forth from the ceased momentum. He could see the distant city lights over her shoulder out of his peripherals, silhouetted against the dusty dusk skyline.

They were on top of the world.

Close enough to Heaven that they could kiss the stars.

She still seemed rather uncomfortable under his gaze, licking her lips nervously at the expression in his eyes.

"Do you remember the last night we ever saw each other before college?" he asked quietly. He hoped she could hear him over the soundtrack of the carnival below.

He wasn't sure what made him bring it up. But he had to know.

Something flashed behind her eyes. Recognition.

"Do you remember what you asked me?" he continued, using his fingers to gently comb some stray hair behind her ear.

The smile was entirely gone from her mouth now, replaced with serious sincerity. Something had deepened in her eyes, creating a bottomless cavern behind their mocha surfaces. It was like a gateway into her soul. Like she was inviting him to look inside – to explore everything that was on her mind and in her heart.

It was that look again. The one from last night.

She nodded slowly, as if frightened to admit it after all this time.

He studied her countenance, his heart beating like a jackhammer in his chest. There was nothing in his life that he could remember making him this outrageously nervous.

And conversely, this inexplicably content.

"Ask me again," he whispered.

She blinked rapidly a few short times, parting her mouth in momentary surprise.

He knew what he was doing. Knew that he was about the change the game entirely. Figured that he would probably regret it by morning. Understood that everything that Jason and Ian had predicted was slowly coming true.

But it didn't matter. It didn't matter what they thought of him – what was going on was the realest thing he had ever known. And he could never bring himself to hurt her. She had been his angel for so long…and now it was _his _turn to watch over _her_.

For all the years he had known her, all the years that he had regarded her as nothing more than his best friend, this moment had been lying in waiting for far too long. He hadn't been in denial in high school. No, that wasn't it at all. It had just taken some time – some distance – to bring them to the point that they were meant to arrive at.

He had spent his entire life getting to know her. And now, as an adult, fate was telling him that he was meant to spend the _rest_ of his life taking care of her.

Her chocolate eyes darted back and forth between his cerulean ones, and when she spoke, her voice was raspier than usual. "Do…you ever think about kissing me?"

He exhaled heavily, bringing his face so close to hers that their noses brushed.

"All the time."

His lips touched onto hers, and everything went silent.

He was hesitant at first – tender – in order to gauge her reaction. Then, after a moment, the ferocity grew. She was burying her hands in his hair, pulling him eagerly closer.

An involuntary tremor ran through his body. All of his senses were in overdrive, like he was going to explode. His insides were on fire – he was sure that he must burn to the touch, but she did not seem to notice. He cupped his hand against her good cheek, and the soft feeling of her skin against his palm made him weak in the knees. If they'd been standing, he'd now be lying in a heap on the ground.

The millions of thoughts that had been racing through his mind were suddenly frozen in time, the world on mute. Nothing else existed. No _one _else existed. Everything in his past – all of his mistakes – was suddenly a distant memory, wiped away entirely like a clean slate.

He wondered vaguely why he hadn't done this before, but he knew the answer was obvious. Because it wouldn't have meant the same thing five years ago – maybe not even five _hours _ago. It had been an uphill battle for them to get to this place. And now that they were on top of the world, it was the perfect timing. The _only_ timing.

He had never understood what people meant about getting lost in a kiss. But if this waslost, he didn't want to ever be found.

And then, she pulled away. The simple gesture was enough to make everything around him scream in protest as the world came back to life, and he felt suddenly hungover.

There were silent tears shimmering in her eyes as she sniffled quietly.

"We…we can't."

"Why not?" he demanded, before he could even stop himself.

She ran a trembling hand through the roots of her hair, shaking her head with stubborn feverishness. The sudden lurching of the Ferris Wheel alerted him that they were on their way back down.

Back to Earth.

"Because, Toby," she murmured hoarsely. "Because you don't do the girlfriend thing, and you don't believe in love, or marriage, or having something permanent with someone."

The ice coursed through his veins so rapidly that his fingers went numb.

"And…And I can't do casual." She chanced a glance at him, her toffee colored eyes two pools of bitter sadness. "Not with you."

He wanted nothing more than to tell her that she was wrong. That he was changing – that things were different now. Because of her.

But judging by the fear in her eyes, it was not what she needed to hear right now. She was overwhelmed. And he would be the last person in this world to push her.

Their cart settled back at the bottom of the wheel, and she was anxiously climbing out. He followed helplessly, cursing himself for being so lost for words. If he could say something – anything – to make her feel better, perhaps he would feel like less of an asshole.

But nothing came to him. He felt an unpleasant tightening inside his chest cavity, and for a moment it was difficult to breathe.

This must have been what heartbreak felt like.

He had never had this feeling before – had never realized how debilitating it could be.

And he never wanted to feel it again.

* * *

When they arrived back at her loft a half hour later, not much had changed. The ride had been painfully quiet, which only served to tug at his heartstrings all the more.

He was glad she was letting him come in, though. The last thing he wanted to do was end this magnificent day on an awkward note. Perhaps if they spent another couple hours together, he could come up with some brilliant way to fix the damage he had inflicted. Maybe by the end of the night, things could be back to normal.

"Do you want some coffee?" she asked quietly. It was the longest sentence she had spoken since the Ferris Wheel.

"Sure," he agreed, shuffling into the kitchen to stand beside her. "But I thought you hated homemade coffee."

She scoffed with hesitant amusement as she loaded the filter. "I hate _Jason's_ homemade coffee. He's one of those pansies who drinks it weak."

He chuckled softly, and then the silence settled once more. He leaned back against the counter and watched her work, suddenly feeling as though she somehow looked like a different person. Like he'd been looking at her with the light off all these years, and today was the first time he was able to truly see her.

She seemed to sense him staring, for her eyes flickered to his in a sidelong glance. "What?" she murmured, a hint of impatience in her tone.

"Nothing."

A tiny sigh escaped her mouth, and he had the feeling that he wasn't supposed to hear it.

"Fine," she muttered.

Another pause descended as she powered the pot on. She continued to hang around idly by it, as if watching coffee brew was the most transfixing thing in the world.

He watched her for a beat, finding that he was almost as mesmerized by her features as she was by the brown liquid dripping into the glass decanter.

And then his mouth was running amok once more.

"Spencer, we have to talk about what happened."

She inhaled sharply, diving for the cupboards to find the mugs. "Nothing happened," she said waspishly.

"Seriously?" he grumbled, crossing his arms at his chest. "Are you really gonna play that game?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said distantly, struggling to stand on tiptoe to reach the cups. Her fingertips were just narrowly brushing their handles. "Goddamnit!"

He came up behind her, reaching easily over her to unearth the coffee mugs. She seemed to flinch at him being as close as he was, shrinking against the counter to put space between them.

As he set them down, he caught a glimpse of her face in the distorted reflection of the kitchen window. Her eyes were scrunched up, her mouth pressed into a thin line to hold back tears.

She was going to cry.

"Spence," he began softly, taking her gingerly by the shoulders to turn her around. After only a moment of hesitation, she leaned her head into his chest, sniffling quietly against him. He set his chin into her crown, his hand burrowing itself in her dark locks. Hearing her cry was one thing – but it was something entirely different when he knew it was about him. It was physically painful.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

This seemed to set her off, for she was leaping away from him, as if burned by their contact.

"Don't," she pleaded tearfully. "Don't do that!"

"Do what?" he demanded irritably.

"Apologize," she sputtered, crossing her arms over her stomach as if it was her only way of holding herself together.

He sighed heavily in increasing frustration. "Spencer, I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Talk to me."

"You're – you're – being _you_!" she cried, stammering against the sobs. She was pushing the tears away impatiently now, ashamed of their presence. "As if saying no to you wasn't hard enough, you have to go and make it even harder!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" he growled, craning his neck to get a good look at her face.

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes, crossing the room back to the coffee pot. Struggling to pour it into her mug, she paused to catch her breath.

"Spencer," he said, his tone softening in slight. "If you don't want anything to do with this, why did you kiss me back? Why did you invite me _inside_ just now?"

"I – I don't know," she stuttered. She was holding her weight up with the hands she had grounded on the countertop, but her shaking elbows threatened to dismount her.

"Is it so hard to believe that maybe I could _want_ to be with you?" he whispered desperately. He wanted to go to her – comfort her – but she had made it clear that he needed to stay away. It was damn near killing him, though. His skin was crawling like a feening addict.

"Stop it!" she shouted. "Just stop!"

"I _can't_!" he hollered back, and he could feel the hot presence of tears building in his eyes. "I can't until I understand what's going on right now! We've known each other forever, Spencer, and if you think after all of that I'd do _anything_ to hurt you – do anything to make you cry like this – I'm not Ian, for God's sake, it's me!"

She released a guttural sob, burying her face in her hands.

"You're my best friend," he continued fervently. "You always have been, and you always will be. Those four years that we didn't talk were the hardest four years of my life! I need you, Spencer. I don't think I can lose you again. So just tell me what I have to do to – "

She had leapt toward him, mid-sentence, throwing her entire body into him. He only barely caught her under the thighs, stumbling backward into the fridge. Her mouth crashed onto his hungrily, her hands scratching through his scalp, silent tears mingling with the ones dribbling from his own eyes.

He swiftly spun her around, pressing her against the wall beside them. She gasped in pleasant surprise, tugging at the bottom hem of his shirt with such ferocity that it may as well have been covered in thorns. They only broke contact enough to pull it over his head, and it was discarded somewhere into the living room.

Her lips were back on his, her tongue darting against his in a wild dance of passion. He used the leverage of his body to keep her against the wall as he began to tear eagerly at the buttons of her blouse. Her hands quickly found his to assist, and she was soon shrugging it away once he pulled her away from the plaster enough to slip it off.

It was a blur of lips and flesh all the way back to her bedroom, and he had nearly caused a few near-fatal accidents along the journey. He dropped her gently onto the bed, taking a moment to assess her face. Her lips were swollen from the pressure of his, her mouth parted in desperate withdrawal. There was a distinct glaze about her eyes, as though she were intoxicated. The way her hair pooled around her head onto the pillow gave her the illusion of an angel, her halo encircling her head.

She had never been so beautiful. _Nobody_ had ever been so beautiful.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, and was surprised to hear how raspy his voice had become.

Her hand came up to his face, the pad of her thumb brushing gently against his lips.

"You have a nice mouth," she whispered, and then grinned in spite of herself.

He smiled back, a short chuckle racking his body. "You _do _remember."

"I remember everything about you," she murmured sincerely. "I always have."

He was suddenly torn between what he wanted more – to feel his lips against hers again, or to just remain hovering above her, silently drinking in how amazingly exquisite she was.

She made the decision for him, tugging gently on his chin to bring their faces back together. This kiss was softer – slower – but the passion had somehow surmounted what had begun in the kitchen.

He pulled her up into his lap, so that she was straddling his hips, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra. She ran her fingertips down the length of his torso, and they left tingles in their wake. He didn't understand how easily she was able to paralyze him, but he didn't mind being under her spell.

She lowered her arms to let the bra slip away from her shoulders, and he had difficulty looking away. Everything about her lithe figure was absolutely perfect. _She_ was perfect.

There was a look of tender impatience in her eyes, her hands stroking the length of his jawline in anticipation. He brought his lips back to hers to oblige her, slowly lowering her back against the pillows, careful to mind her head.

She was undoing his pants now with slow, deliberate movements. He reached down to do the same, pushing both remaining layers down to her knees. She finished the task by carelessly kicking them away, and suddenly there was nothing left to separate them.

He gently tugged at her lower lip with his own before pulling back to admire her once more. She arched her head back, exposing her racing pulse thrumming in her throat. His heart rate most certainly mirrored hers, because he couldn't remember feeling this inebriated in all his life. Every nerve ending in his body was crying out with surprise, overwhelmed by everything that he was feeling – in every sense of the word.

When her eyes came back to his, the soft glimmer there made his breath hitch in his lungs. There was unbridled passion in those chocolate depths, and he was suddenly lost to the outside world. He raked his fingers through her hair, pushing it back behind her ears, and rested his forehead against hers. She hummed quietly, encircling her arms behind his back.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, creating a unique rhythm with the synchronicity of his bodies. Time had ceased to exist, and the world around them had stopped. Nothing else mattered except for her.

And nothing else ever would.

**_[TO BE CONTINUED]_**


	13. I Know Who I Want To Take Me Home

_**A/N:** Hi y'all! Sorry about the wait. Crazy past couple weeks. _

_HOLY FINALE, amirite? I'm still reeling!_

_Hope you like this chapter. As always, reviews are appreciated._

_xoxo_

* * *

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 11**

_The Cavanaugh household had eaten dinner at six o'clock on the dot for as long as Toby could remember. It was literally like clockwork – his mother had an internal timer like no one else he'd ever known, and knew precisely what time she would have to start cooking every night in order to have dinner on the table right on schedule. _

_Tonight was no different. Just as Toby was wrapping up his last algebra problem, his mother called up the stairs. _

"_Jenna! Toby! Dinner!"_

_He closed his book with a definitive '__**thump**__' and pulled open his bedroom door. Taking the stairs two a time, he heard Jenna emerge from her room behind him. _

"_Don't keep your mother waiting," his dad stated brashly, not even bothering to look up from the newspaper he was perusing. _

"_Sorry," he muttered, slipping into his usual seat. Jenna was close on his heels, dropping into the chair just across from him. _

"_How was school today?" his mother asked as she reached behind her back to remove her apron. _

"_Good," Jenna chirped. "I got an 'A' on my history test." _

_This statement was enough to finally cause Jack Cavanaugh to lower his reading material, beaming proudly at his daughter. _

"_Good for you, doll face. Not that I expect anything less, coming from you."_

_She grinned happily, and Toby scoffed quietly to himself. Where she saw a compliment, he saw only the shadow of conditional love. His dad had never been one to display affection without a legitimate reason. And nothing caught his attention better than an 'A' average. _

"_And you?" he asked, chancing a glance at Toby over his paper. The tone of his voice suggested that he wasn't expecting much. _

_Toby cleared his throat. "Well…I talked to an academic counselor about community colleges today. She showed me some really good ones – ones that have the kinds of programs I'm interested in." _

"_Wood shop isn't a program, son," Jack muttered without meeting his eyes. He had returned to reading, clearly bored with the conversation. _

"_I – I'm not planning to major in __**wood shop**__," Toby replied incredulously. "I was actually thinking about going into business or something." _

"_Your grades aren't good enough to get you into business school, Toby." Judging by the way the comment stung, you would think he had shouted at him. On the contrary – it had slid off the tongue as casually as reading from a TV Guide. _

"_Toby's grades aren't terrible, Dad," Jenna began meekly, absent-mindedly twirling her spaghetti around her fork. _

"_Don't defend mediocrity," Jack said. "Your brother needs to take responsibility for dropping the ball all these years."_

"_I'm not dropping the ball," Toby argued. "I'm trying." _

"_No, you're not," Jack declared, lowering the paper to look Toby in the eye. "You're pissing away your life by tinkering with that goddamn car of yours." _

"_You're smart, Toby," his mother began quietly. "If only you just applied yourself – "_

"_I __**do**__." _

"_No, you don't," his dad countered waspishly. "If you put half as much effort into school work as your sister, we'd be celebrating __**both**__ of you getting into Penn State."_

_He felt as though he'd been slapped. He'd been waiting – just __**waiting**__ – for his dad to finally use this failure against him. It had only been a matter of time. Jack Cavanaugh was not the sort to ignore perfectly good ammunition. _

"_Jack – " _

"_Don't, Marion." He returned to concentrating on the plate in front of him. "Don't pretend like you're not just as disappointed as I am." _

_Nobody spoke. Jenna was eyeing Toby sympathetically from across the table, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. Her face said it all: she was expressing her apology, while also begging him to keep his mouth shut. _

_He had always gotten along with her. They weren't close, but they were civil. They rarely argued – hell, they rarely spoke. But nothing infuriated him more than when she took his parents' side. He had always stuck up for her, though the instances occurred few and far between. Had covered for her when she had a pregnancy scare earlier this year after a drunken rendezvous with Garrett. Had taken the fall for the marijuana pipe his dad had found in the basement a couple summers ago. _

_But when it was him in the hot seat, she was quiet as a mouse. _

"_And just how long have you been saving that one, Dad?" he asked brashly. "Waiting until I'm already at rock bottom?" _

"_Tobias!"_

"_Sorry, Mom," he muttered, pushing his seat out from the table. "But I'm not hungry anymore." _

"_Sit back down," his dad commanded. "Your mother spends hours slaving in the kitchen. The least you can do is show a little appreciation." _

"_What, like you do?" he snapped. He had started to walk away, but his dad grabbed him roughly by the wrist to stay him. _

"_Sit. Down." _

_Toby stared into his dad's ice blue eyes, a mirror of his own. There was a silent warning in their depths, but he didn't care. _

"_Let's be honest, Dad. Cooking is about the only thing you think she's good for." _

_He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing Toby by the shoulders and pushing him back against the wall. Jenna shrieked in alarm, and his mom burst into immediate tears. _

"_How dare you speak to me that way!" Jack growled, holding him in place. _

"_It's the truth!" Toby cried. "Neither of you really give a shit about each other. The only reason you're still together is because you don't want people to think we're anything less than this perfect, happy, little family." _

_It happened in a flash – so fast that he was certain he must have blacked out. His father's hand was poised in the air and his cheek was stinging with the likeness of a thousand needles piercing at his skin. His dad had never struck him before, no matter how angrily they'd hollered at each other. They stared at one another, in shock, as the silence settled. The only sound was his mother's muffled sobs. _

"_Toby…" he began quietly, his voice breaking._

"_Don't," he rasped. "Don't bother." _

_He took advantage of his dad's newfound alarm, slinking away from the wall and hurrying toward the door. He half-expected him to call after him, forbidding him from leaving the house. But he didn't. For the first time in his entire life, he let him go. _

_He emerged into the night air, the chill of the breeze serving as an anesthetic on his throbbing cheek. He descended the steps of the front porch, angrily kicking a garbage can along the way. His adrenaline was still raging, and he felt rather nauseous at the intensity with which it was overtaking his body. _

_He had never been so angry in all his life. Sure, his dad was a dick on a regular basis – but nothing like this had ever happened before. Ever. _

"_Toby?" _

_The sound of her voice startled him. She was standing midway between their shared expanse of yard, arms curled tightly around her midsection. _

"_I'm sorry – I just got home. I heard yelling…"_

"_I'm fine," he stated shortly, angling his head away from her so that she wouldn't see the welt forming on his face. "Just another family night at the Cavanaughs'." _

_She was approaching him cautiously, as if afraid to set him off. "Are you all right?" _

"_I said I'm fine," he repeated. "Go inside, Spence." _

_It was as though she knew the precise reason for him avoiding her gaze. She reached out to gently take his chin in her hand and bring his eyes to hers. If the injury frightened her, she did not let on. Her mocha eyes showed only concern. _

"_C'mon," she offered quietly, taking him by the hand. "Let me get you some ice." _

_He thought about refusing. He could have easily persuaded her to leave him alone. She had always respected his decisions that way. _

_But he didn't want to. Tonight was perhaps the first time in his life when he felt genuinely terrified of being alone. _

_So he followed her back to her house, slipping in through the back door into the kitchen. She parked him at the dining room table and started fumbling in the freezer. Within a few moments she had returned, a Ziploc bag of ice wrapped in a dishcloth. _

"_Does it hurt?" she asked meekly, bringing the makeshift ice pack to his cheek. _

_It was a stupid question, really. Of course it hurt. All of it hurt. His face – his psyche – all of it. _

"_Not really," he lied. _

_She pursed her lips in a way that suggested she didn't believe him. But she didn't push it. _

"_What happened?" _

"_Oh, you know. The usual," he said darkly. "My dad and I got into a fight. I said something I shouldn't have, and then – then he…"_

_He trailed off, realizing that his voice had begun to break. He didn't want to fall apart right now, especially not in front of her. _

"_Toby…"_

_He wasn't sure what it was about her voice. The raspy way she breathed his name was like the straw that broke the camel's back. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, attempting to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. He was seventeen years old, for Christ's sake. He wasn't going to cry…he wasn't going to cry…_

_She seemed to sense his internal dynamic shift. She had set the ice pack aside and scooted her chair flush with his, wrapping her arms around him. He childishly laid his head against her chest, much like a son would a mother, taking deep, painful breaths. He could feel the tears stinging in his eyes, unceremoniously beginning to cascade down his face. _

"_It's all right," she crooned, burying her face in the crown of his head. Her delicate fingers were sweeping through his hair in a comforting combing motion, attempting to soothe him. _

_A muffled sob erupted from his throat, making him feel instantaneously foolish. He shouldn't be crying. __**Why was he crying**__? _

_He knew the answer in the pit of his soul, though he didn't want to acknowledge it. Tonight may have been the first time his father had hit him, but it was simply a physical culmination of all the fights they'd had in the past. The reality of it was that he was never going to be good enough. Not good enough for his parents…not good enough for college…_

_Not good enough for himself. _

_He didn't know how long he laid cradled in her arms, sobbing quietly into the collar of her lacrosse t-shirt. It could have been hours, or a mere few minutes. _

_The only thing he knew was that right here – right now – felt more like home than his mother's embrace ever had. He couldn't rationalize it, and he didn't want to. _

_Spencer didn't care that he wasn't perfect. She was about the__** only**__ one who didn't. _

_And in that moment, he didn't want to be anywhere else. _

* * *

Toby awoke the next morning to the unpleasant sound of his phone buzzing incessantly. He instinctively knew, without even looking, that the sun had barely risen on the horizon. It was still the crack of dawn, and he felt as though he had hardly slept at all.

With his eyes still squeezed shut, he reached blindly across the bed and toward the source of the noise. His hand grasped at empty air where his nightstand should have been, and it gave him pause.

He opened one eye uncertainly, and realized he was not at home. This was not his bed, and it was not his apartment.

As his consciousness slowly began to return, the events of the night before came flooding back to him, accompanied by a warm tingle in the pit of his stomach. It felt like such a blur now – it seemed almost impossible that it had been real. He had fallen asleep holding her close, lulled into a slumber by the sound of her breathing. It was hard to explain, but having her in his arms, having her arms around him – it somehow felt like home. It had been so long since he'd experienced such bliss. Such inexplicable comfort.

And suddenly, her face was all that he wanted to see. He began to roll over, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest.

But she was not there.

She was not lying beside him, as she had been last night. Running his hand across her side of the bed, he discovered that the sheets were cold. She had gotten up some time ago. Perplexed, he hoisted himself into a sitting position, glancing surreptitiously around the room. He was completely alone.

His phone began buzzing once more. Rubbing the blurriness from his eyes, he reached across the edge of the mattress to retrieve his pants from the floor. He dug through the pockets until he found what he was looking for.

"Hello?" he asked wearily, without even looking at the caller's name.

"Hey, I have a huge favor to ask you."

It was Caleb.

"Sure," Toby yawned. "What's up?"

"I need you to drive me to work today. I have a flat, and I don't have time to deal with it this morning."

"All right," he agreed, swinging his legs around the side of the bed to pull on his boxers. "Lemme hop in the shower and I'll be there in twenty."

"Thanks. See you soon."

He ended the call and wandered out into the hallway. It occurred to him briefly that he may be walking into a lion's den, what with the lecture Jason had given him only yesterday. Maybe he should have put pants on.

But the loft was empty. Both of them were gone.

Padding into the kitchen, he glanced around for a note. Surely Spencer wouldn't have left him in her apartment without so much as a goodbye. It was unlike her. And frankly, the idea was a bit painful.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not so much as a post-it telling him where she'd run off to. He glanced at his phone to ensure that he hadn't missed a text. No new messages. He began to quickly type a message of his own.

'_Where are you?_'

He stared at the inbox, as if it would expedite her reply. Drumming his fingers on the countertop, his worst instincts began to take over. Had he done something to upset her? Did he scare her off? She had been so torn yesterday, insisting that she couldn't trust him to be committed. Had expressed just how much the idea terrified her. Had said she was afraid of getting hurt. Not that he could blame her – he knew his reputation preceded him, and she understood it better than anyone else.

She must have been having second thoughts. She probably woke up that morning, realizing what had happened, and opted to make herself scarce. But why not kick _him_ out? It was _her_ place, after all.

It didn't quite make sense, but any of the number of possible outcomes was difficult to process. He thought of all the times he had abandoned a woman in her bed, not thinking anything of it. If this was what it felt like to be on the other side of things, he didn't like it one bit. It was a confusing feeling. As if the shame that had already been consuming him this week wasn't enough…

Still no reply. His mood suddenly plummeted. No longer was that anxious knot of excitement present in his stomach. Instead it was replaced by a distant implication of queasiness. Inexplicably, he was no longer feeling welcome here. And all he wanted to do was get the hell out.

It was strange to use their shower without anyone else being home. Part of him felt like he was invading their privacy, but the other part knew that he needed to get cleaned up. He hadn't been home in a few days, and was starting to feel rather grimy.

Ten minutes later he was dressed and making his way down the stairs two at a time. It occurred to him distantly that he was wearing the same thing as yesterday, but it was truthfully the least of his worries.

He was hurrying to his car, pressing the unlock button on the key fob, when he realized something else wasn't sitting right. He wasn't sure where the instinct came from. But it only served to tighten the already-strained knot in his stomach.

Cautiously, he meandered around to the driver side, and what he saw caused him to curse out loud.

There was a deep etch down the length of the body, paint flaking off along its path.

Someone had keyed his car.

It was clearly purposeful, and had been done without a beat of hesitation. It was no superficial scrape. There was no remorse or uncertainty in the severity with which the line had been drawn across the steel. If it was this noticeable in the dim light of the early morning, he could only imagine how bad it was going to look by high noon.

But that wasn't even the worst of it – the back windshield was a war zone of cracked glass. There was a distinct point of impact, spider web fractures traveling outward from the core. It looked as though someone had bludgeoned it, but not quite hard enough to smash it out completely.

As if this morning couldn't get any worse. Not only had Spencer completely blown him off, but now this.

"You've got to be shitting me," he muttered, growling under his breath. The culprit could have been anyone, really – any bored teenager with nothing better to do.

But he had the distinct impression that he knew _exactly_ who it was.

Ten minutes later he was pulling into Caleb's driveway, positively seething with fury. He had already been waiting for him on the front step, hopping down and jogging quickly to the truck. His brow furrowed in slight as he caught a glimpse of the damage in the back, slipping hesitantly into the passenger seat.

"Dude," he started incredulously. "What the hell hap – ?"

"Don't ask," Toby grumbled, reversing out of the drive.

"I take it you know who to blame, based on your _jolly _mood," Caleb quipped sarcastically as he pulled on his seatbelt.

"I know _exactly_ who it was," he agreed darkly. "Goddamn asshole…"

Caleb cocked an eyebrow. "I know you said not to ask…but…"

Toby sighed dejectedly, attempting to keep the red he was seeing from obscuring his vision. It was hard to keep anything from Caleb. He had told him everything for as long as he could remember.

He knew the questions Caleb was going to ask. He just hoped he was adequately prepared for his disapproval.

"I spent the night with Spencer," he said quietly.

Caleb didn't hear him. "What?"

"IspentthenightwithSpencer," Toby repeated, louder this time. His words, however, had all managed to slur together.

"Again, _what_?"

It wasn't Caleb's fault that he was frustrated. Toby didn't mean to blow up at him. It just kind of happened.

"I had sex with Spencer last night!" he hollered, clutching the steering wheel with an unfamiliar disdain. He was pinned somewhere between feeling furious and depressed, confused about the conflated urges to cry and punch something all at the same time. "Then I woke up this morning and she was gone, and my car was destroyed."

"What, do you think it was her?" Caleb demanded disbelievingly.

"No!" Toby shouted irritably, annoyed at Caleb's cluelessness. "I think it was Ian."

"Who the hell is Ian?"

He was sure he literally had steam pouring from his ears, like a character in a cartoon. He knew that it was no fault of Caleb's that he had left him out of the loop all week. He'd been secretive and aloof, and he had no one to blame but himself. But right now – right this moment – what he needed from Caleb was for him to understand what he was talking about. The idea of going into detail only fueled the fire blazing through his veins.

"The – the guy! The guy she used to date!"

Caleb shrugged helplessly, as though still trying to make sense of the story. "If they're not together anymore, why would he mess with your car?"

"Because he has a hell of a temper," Toby said impatiently. "He can't control it – he hit her the other day – "

"He _hits_ her? Who is this jackass?"

"YOU SAW HIM!" Toby said loudly. "The guy from the tux place!"

"_That_ tool?" Caleb mused. "Why doesn't she just tell him to get lost? Call the cops?"

Toby rolled his eyes, growing more frustrated by the minute. "Because, he's the father of her son."

Caleb's eyes widened. "They have a _kid_ together?"

"KEEP UP, CALEB!" he cried. He was so flustered that he hardly realized he had just run a red light. A barrage of honking horns quickly followed.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?" Caleb demanded, his face a mask of horror and indignation. "I get that you're pissed, okay? But this is not my _fault_!"

He was right. Of course he was right. But it didn't change the fact that Toby was on the verge of having a full-blown panic attack.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence that settled in the car. Toby concentrated on his breathing and the road in front of him, fighting to calm his racing pulse. A couple of minutes passed before he was feeling composed enough to have a civilized discussion once more.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, his voice hoarse with defeat. "I just don't know what to do."

Caleb sighed, turning to face him. His face had softened considerably. "Well, what do you _want_ to do?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

"Do you want to be with her?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, and was surprised at the brevity with which he was able to answer the question. It had slipped off his tongue so easily that he alarmed even himself.

Caleb was studying his expression. "Dude…"

"I know, I know," he interrupted. "Please don't give me a speech right now about how much I've changed."

There was a beat.

"If you want to be with her, then that's what you should do," Caleb said quietly.

"I don't think it's what she wants, though," Toby replied. "I think she has…doubts."

"Well, can you blame her?" Caleb quipped candidly. "You know your own history. Put two and two together."

Toby took a moment to digest this, releasing a shaky breath.

"She's probably just as freaked out by all of this as you are," Caleb continued. "But you're never going to know unless you ask."

"Yeah," Toby mumbled. It seemed so obvious when Caleb said it, and he felt suddenly foolish for needing advice on an issue that was easily solved by common sense.

"And as for Ian," Caleb began, a hint of darkness in his tone, "if you need some help teaching him how to treat a woman…"

He trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging precariously in the air. Caleb was not a violent person by nature, but Toby's story had clearly struck a nerve. Maybe something had happened in his past. Maybe he'd been caught in a similar crossfire.

He couldn't be sure. But it didn't matter. Caleb was on his side.

"Thanks," he said simply. It was innocuous enough in and of itself, but he knew the gravity it held. Caleb knew, too.

"People like Spencer don't just come into our lives a dime a dozen, you know," Caleb said. "They're there for a reason."

Toby nodded resolutely. He agreed, but he wasn't sure what to say.

Caleb turned to him once more, a ghost of a smile teasing his lips. "All those years watching you play the field…I knew you'd take the bench someday."

The metaphor was cheesy as hell and made him laugh outright.

"Seriously," Caleb chuckled. "You deserve to be happy."

Toby's heart swelled humbly at the comment. It was still corny and a little too sensitive for his liking, but the meaning behind it made him feel nice nonetheless.

"Shut up," he said jokingly. It came off sounding meek and half-hearted, dragged down by the mixture of amusement and exhaustion he was feeling.

Caleb smirked. "You're welcome."

* * *

The talk with Caleb had helped. It was about the only thing that was getting him through the morning, really. The very simple, very rational plan of talking to Spencer later in the day was both sensible and logical. Maybe he would try to catch up with her at lunch and see if she wanted to go for coffee. They could talk. He could apologize for taking advantage of her vulnerability and explain what was going through his head. That it had never been his intention to make her do something she didn't want to – something she wasn't ready for. He had to make that clear. That was the most important priority. And then, they could discuss the options of where to go from here.

He didn't like the idea of 'options,' really. But he had to face the reality of the situation, and the fact that she may not necessarily be on the same page that he was. It didn't hurt to have hope, like Caleb said; but he had to be prepared for a different outcome, as well.

It wasn't even ten o'clock before a stout man with a receding hairline came barreling into the maintenance garage, his face a display of pure irritation.

"Byron," Toby greeted uncertainly. "What brings you down here?"

"Your girl – the one you wanted me to hire so badly," he began grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest. "She hasn't shown up yet. No call – no nothing."

The notion perplexed Toby immediately. It wasn't in Spencer's nature to blow off _anything_, much less a brand new job.

"There has to be some misunderstanding," he insisted. "Are you sure she didn't leave a voicemail or something?"

"Yes, I'm positive," Byron snapped. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Toby shook his head helplessly. "No…I don't."

"Did she say anything about not coming to work today? Anything about not wanting this job?"

Byron's tone of incredulity was maddening. Toby was already feeling on edge as it was, and he was only contributing to the anxiety that he had suppressed over the past couple hours.

"She wants this job," he said fiercely. "I swear."

His boss's lips were pressed into a thin line of doubt. "Then where is she?"

"I said I don't _know_," Toby snapped. He could feel Caleb piercing him with a warning gaze, concerned that he was going to lose his temper on the absolute worst person possible.

Byron huffed in agitation. "Well, if I don't hear from her by the end of the day, she's gone. Feel free to relay the message."

He stalked away, leaving Toby in a state of utter confusion and annoyance, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Caleb broke the silence almost immediately.

"Don't," he said simply. It was a vague thing to say, but Toby knew what he meant: _don't let it get to you_.

"She would have called," he said distantly. "She isn't the type to blow off her responsibilities."

There was a moment in which both of them were quiet. Caleb peered at him quizzically.

"You said she was gone this morning, right?"

"Yeah – I have no idea where she went," Toby said vaguely.

Caleb's expression was dark, the wheels turning rapidly in his brain. "What if something's wrong?"

The mere implication caused Toby's blood to freeze over in his veins. His imagination began running wild at the multitude of possibilities.

His phone began buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out anxiously and saw that it was Jason calling, as if on cue. Without even thinking twice about being on the clock, he brought it quickly to his ear.

"Jason," he blurted breathlessly.

"Toby. Something happened," Jason said quietly. Toby could hardly hear him over the din of power tools in the garage. "She didn't want me to call you – didn't want you to worry – "

"What's going on?" he demanded brashly. "Is she okay?"

There was a brief pause before he answered, his voice trembling. "She's in the hospital."


	14. Half-Past the Point of Oblivion

_**A/N: **Ugh, another chapter that was really hard to write. I'm still not sure I'm entirely pleased with it. I re-wrote so many spots, but I can't help feeling like I'm still missing something..._

_I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless. xoxo_

* * *

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 13**

_**Rosewood – January, 2009**_

"_Your phone is ringing." _

_Her voice startled him awake. He hadn't even realized that he'd begun to doze off, but the uncomfortable crick in his neck suggested that his head had been dangling unconsciously on his shoulder for quite some time. _

_His blond companion was sitting at the opposite end of the couch, still wrapped in a sheet. She hadn't gotten dressed yet. Instead she seemed rather engrossed in __**Laguna Beach**__ playing on the television, a cigarette poised in one hand. _

"_You must be getting used to me," she quipped teasingly. "You don't usually fall asleep while you're here." _

_No, he didn't. In fact, he had made a habit of __**not **__falling asleep at the house of any girl he'd just had sex with. CeCe was a different story though, in some ways. She shared a lot of his views regarding relationships and love._

_He had been with her on a few occasions, each one with the same understanding as the last. It didn't happen often, but she had been known to call him when she was feeling particularly lonely. Her mom was away frequently for extended periods of time, leaving her by herself in a house that was not located in a particularly safe neighborhood. _

_He didn't know what it was about her that continued to draw him back. The way she made him laugh. The way she shared his views on the world. Maybe it was the fact that she was just as broken as he was, no matter how much confidence she tried to portray on the surface. _

_Misery loves company, after all. _

_She extended her pack of Marlboros in his direction. "Cigarette?"_

_He shook his head, looking over the arm of the sofa to locate his jacket. Once he fished through the pockets, he saw that she was right. He had a missed call and text message, both from Spencer. _

_CeCe was eyeing him surreptitiously as she blew a stream of smoke out of the side of her mouth. "It's __**her**__, isn't it?" _

_She knew all about his history with Spencer. How long they had been friends…the sort of stuff she went through with Ian…the ways she had been there for him countless times over the years. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to tell her such private information. Maybe it was the fact that she was so far removed from his world. Maybe he had even come to regard her as something of a friend. Maybe both. _

"_Yeah," he muttered quietly, rifling past the beer cans on the floor to reach his pants. "Yeah, she's really sick. Wants some company." _

"_Hmm," she replied noncommittally. "You're leaving me, then?"_

_He rubbed his hand over his mouth as he finished getting properly dressed, turning to face her. Her curly blond hair was dreadfully askew, her lip-gloss smeared across her pouted mouth. Despite the state she was in and the cloud of smoke that whirled around her, she still looked quite pretty. In some strange way, it almost accented her good looks. Like an actress in a classic movie, creating an iconic scene that would be remembered by viewers for decades to come._

"_CeCe…" he began tiredly. _

"_No, I know," she insisted laughingly. "She needs you, you go. I know the drill." _

_Coming from any other girl, he would have been on the look out for signs of ambivalence – hidden nuance. But she wasn't like that. She always said exactly what was on her mind, even when it was inappropriate to do so. _

"_Where's Ian tonight?" she inquired. Her tone suggested that she already knew the answer. _

_Toby rolled his eyes. "Damned if I know. He doesn't really do this kind of stuff for her."_

_He started pulling on his coat, patting down the pockets to make sure he wasn't leaving without any of the essentials. She was still gazing at him, her head cocked curiously. _

"_Does she know?" she asked, her voice a singsong sort of tone. _

_He arched an eyebrow. "Know what?" _

_She looked at him with good-natured impatience, glancing away only to flick her cigarette against the ashtray. "That you're in love with her." _

_He chuckled amicably. CeCe was not the first person to get the wrong impression about his relationship with Spencer, and she certainly would not be the last. "It's not like that. She's just my friend." _

"_Most men don't go running off for a friend," she chirped, taking a drag of her cigarette. _

_He pinned her with a pointed look. "She's just my friend," he repeated._

_She narrowed her eyes in his direction, as if trying to read between the lines in his expression. "For now." _

_He sighed melodramatically, unable to suppress another amused scoff. "C'mon. Don't start." _

_She held her hands up in mock surrender, a ghost of a smile teasing her lips. "Sorry. None of my business." _

_He sent her a jokingly triumphant glare, which made her laugh. It was a soft, melodic sort of laugh, devoid of any strain or suppressed worries. The kind you would expect to find in a girl who actually had her life together. _

"_Tell her I said hi," she suggested coyly. _

_He rolled his eyes. "Very funny." Spencer didn't know about CeCe, and he planned to keep it that way. He didn't like bringing her into this part of his life – didn't want her to know the gory details about the piece of him that was careless and promiscuous. She would have been disappointed. _

_And CeCe was privy to his secrecy. But she never seemed to grow tired of teasing him about it._

_She grinned. "Worth a try." _

"_All right," he muttered, more to himself than her, as he grabbed his keys from the coffee table. "I'll catch you later, all right?" _

_He was halfway to the front door before she called to him. _

"_Toby?" _

_He glanced back at her over his shoulder. Her lips were parted, as though there was something she wanted to say but couldn't quite figure out how to express it. _

"_Yeah?" _

_She approached him quietly, holding the sheet together with one hand and reaching out to caress cheek with the other. It was not seductive, or even romantic. It was a genuine display of platonic affection, much like something Spencer would have done. _

_She raised her face to plant a chaste kiss beside his mouth. Her breath smelled like tobacco and toffee. _

_They simply stared at one another for a moment, letting the comfortable silence settle between them as she softly ran the pad of her thumb across his jawline. And then she offered him a somber smile, her shoulders slumping in slight as she found her voice once more. "It was good to see you." _

_It was the first time he had ever detected any hidden meaning in her words. But it wasn't bitterness, or resentment, or any of the signals he would have expected to find. It was candor and sincerity. She meant exactly what she said – but she meant it on a more personal level than she was letting on. _

_They really __**were **__friends, in some bizarre way. _

_His mouth twitched upward gently in return. "It was good to see you, too." He gently squeezed her hand as he began to turn away once more. And with that, he was out the door. _

_It only took him fifteen minutes to get to Spencer's. He found her sprawled out on the couch when he got there, surrounded by a minefield of used tissues. Her hair was a tangled mess of knots, her nose reddened and swollen from excessive wiping. _

_But even despite all of that, she still somehow looked just as sophisticated and refined as she always did. She had always been one of the prettiest people he knew. And something as insignificant as a cold was not enough to change that. _

"_Hey, Sneezy," he greeted playfully as he took a seat on the end of the couch, lifting her legs over his lap to make room. "How you feeling?"_

"_Awful," she muttered stuffily. "My nasal passages are like Niagara Falls right now." _

_He grimaced good-naturedly. "Adorable." _

_She whined outright, gently kicking her foot against his stomach. "Don't make fun of me."_

"_Sorry," he laughed. "Can I get you anything?" _

"_Yeah," she muttered. "Rhinoplasty." _

"_I don't think that'll make a difference," he countered, unable to suppress his amused smile. "Anything __**else**__?" _

_She hummed quietly to herself, as if thinking this over. "I could use some more tea." _

"_You got it." He began to move her legs aside to stand, but was stopped by one surprisingly strong foot pushing him back against the couch. _

"_What's that on your neck?" she asked suspiciously. _

"_What's what?"_

"_The gigantic hickey," she declared, her face aghast. "It looks __**new**__." _

_He instinctively reached for the skin there. It was, indeed, a bit tender to the touch. _

_There was a moment of silence. _

"_Who were you with?" she inquired quietly. _

"_No one," he lied. "It's not a big deal." _

_She was narrowing her eyes in his direction, a look of incredulity spreading across her features. "Then why can't you tell me?" _

"_Because, it's private," he snapped, pushing her legs gingerly aside once more. He made it to his feet this time. "Where can I find your tea?" _

"_Cupboard above the stove," she murmured, her voice absent of any emotion. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around her figure, making it a point to turn her face away from his train of view. _

"_Spencer," he sighed dejectedly. "Why are you mad?" _

"_I'm not mad," she mumbled. _

"_Yeah, you are," he insisted, coming around the back of the couch to get a look at her. She snapped her head in the opposite direction. "What's wrong?"_

"_Nothing." She took a deep, shuddering breath that resulted in a whooping cough. He reached over to the end table beside her to hand her a tissue, which she accepted with some chagrin. _

"_It's not nothing," he murmured. _

"_Clearly it is," she said waspishly. "You never talk to me about any of this stuff, but you expect me to tell you everything. Why is that?" _

_It was a valid question, and she had every right to ask it. But it didn't change his answer. _

"_Because it's not important," he said honestly. "And I'd much rather hear about your life than bore you with the details of mine." _

_This answer, cryptic as it was, seemed to placate her for the moment. She peered at him from under her eyelashes thoughtfully, looking almost as though she wished she had a viable retaliation. _

"_Why did you leave her to come see me?" she asked uncertainly, her doe eyes probing his for an answer that suited her liking. _

_It was a simple question, in and of itself. But the answer felt far more complicated than he was willing to pay heed to. _

"_Because I care about you. And you needed me."_

_She seemed to mull this over for a moment, wary of the hidden meaning. There wasn't one – not really, anyway. It was simple arithmetic in the end: he valued his friendship with Spencer more than he valued his rendezvouses with CeCe. Or anyone else, for that matter. _

_It highlighted the very stark contrast between their views on relationships. While Spencer put insurmountable stock in the feelings behind her intimacy with Ian, Toby neglected to conflate the two very separate concepts. Sex did not equal love. Love was what he felt for his family, and his friends, and Spencer. Romance simply wasn't a priority. But Spencer __**was**__. _

"_I'm gonna go make your tea. Okay?" _

_She nodded silently, a guilty expression on her face. He reached down to briefly comb some hair away from her clammy forehead._

"_Okay," she replied meekly. _

_Just as he began to step away from the couch, her hand shot out to grab his wrist. Her eyes were glassy with the combination of embarrassment and antihistamine._

"_I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to pry."_

_He offered her a small smile. "It's fine. I just wish you wouldn't let it bother you so much." _

"_Yeah," she muttered distantly. "Me too." _

_The far-off look on her face implied that he was missing something in her meaning. He chose not to dwell on it, however; he was in no mood to continue arguing, and clearly neither was she. She needed him right now. And petty disagreements aside, __**that **__was all that mattered. _

_When he returned with her tea a few minutes later, she was sitting upright on the couch, chewing pensively on her thumbnail. He sat down beside her and handed over the steaming mug, which she gratefully accepted. _

"_Thank you," she whispered. _

"_It's not like tea is hard to make," he chuckled. _

"_No," she stated seriously, raising her eyes to meet his. "I mean, thank you. For always being here when I need you. For putting me first. For everything." _

_He offered a small smile in return, reaching out to squeeze her knee. "You're welcome."_

* * *

He hated hospitals with every fiber of his being. He'd been a particularly accident-prone child, and had spent more time in the ER than at summer camp. At the age of five he had fallen off the back porch and split his chin open on a rock. At eleven, sprained his ankle playing basketball in gym. And just a few short years ago, he'd been admitted for a broken arm after falling off some construction scaffolding.

It seemed logical that after what he'd been through, hospitals wouldn't bother him all that much anymore. But it was precisely the opposite. It meant pain, and the dull stench of antiseptic. Terrible food and equally as terrible nursing staff.

It was a place where people sat for hours, waiting for news that had the potential to completely change the meanings of their existence.

He was taking full strides down the hallway to the lobby where Jason had promised to meet him, Caleb struggling to keep up. After seeing that Toby was in no way fit to operate a vehicle on the adrenaline rush that had coursed through his system, Caleb had insisted on driving him. It was a simple gesture, though it spoke volumes to Toby's wounded mind. He knew that he wouldn't be able to stay with him long – would need to take a cab to head back to work soon. But his company, however brief, was comforting nonetheless.

And frankly, Caleb was right: Toby would never have been able to make it there alive all by himself. His panic was causing him to see stars, his legs likened to Jell-O. He certainly would have ended up in a ditch somewhere.

He burst into the waiting room, eyes immediately roving the surrounding area. The older, blond-haired man was easily identifiable, standing idly by the vending machine. His girlfriend was with him, as well. Just as Toby spotted him, Jason's gaze met his.

"How is she?" he asked immediately, darting between chairs to reach him. "What happened?"

Jason sighed heavily, and Toby noticed the traces of exhaustion across his face. The bags under his eyes gave the illusion that he hadn't slept in days.

"I'm not sure," he said in undertones. "I haven't had a chance to get the whole story yet. All I know is that she was with Ian when it happened."

Toby attempted unsuccessfully to dislodge the lump in his throat. As if the multitude of emotions that were already running through his head weren't enough, several more began to surface. Anger…jealousy…confusion. Why had she been with Ian? More importantly, what the hell had he done to her?

His breath hitched in his lungs.

"When _what_ happened?" he asked. It came off sounding more like an accusatory statement than a question.

His anxiousness must have been obvious in his expression, for Aria had reached out to gently rub his back. Though he hardly knew her, there was something undeniably maternal about the way she was so effortlessly able to provide him comfort.

Jason shook his head almost imperceptibly, his mouth formed into a thin line. "I don't know exactly."

Toby was trying to be understanding about the vagueness of Jason's answers. He really was. But in the end, it was only making him feel more flustered.

"Well, what's _wrong_ with her?" he pressed.

The older man ran a tired hand through his hair nervously, as if gearing up for a very difficult explanation. "She has a broken wrist. Mild concussion. Some – some bruises on the inside of her arm…"

He trailed off. There was a beat.

"What kind of bruises?" Toby demanded dangerously.

Jason glanced at him pointedly, his sea-green eyes dancing back and forth between Toby's own azure ones, but said nothing.

Everything Toby needed to know was in that very silence.

"That's what I thought," he growled, gritting his teeth to maintain his composure. He made to sidestep Jason, but the blond followed his lead easily, holding a hand out toward Toby's chest.

"Listen to me, Toby," he began. There was a distinct weariness lacing his voice, but it was superseded by a sense of determination. "She's really upset right now. You can't go in there demanding answers."

"But…Ian – "

"I know," Jason said brashly. "Trust me, I _know_."

The concern swimming in his blue-green eyes confirmed this, his expression sincere. If anyone understood exactly how Toby was feeling, it was Jason. He had been there just a few short days ago…had almost lost it, himself…

Jason wanted answers, too. And judging by the way he was squaring his jaw in frustration, he wanted them _soon_. But he was fighting to remain logical, a skill that was escaping Toby entirely. He knew his sister – and he knew that now was not the time.

So Toby exhaled sharply, nodding briefly to indicate that he agreed.

"All right," Jason murmured. "C'mon."

As he began to lead him away, Toby glanced over his shoulder at Caleb and Aria. They were rooted to the spot, both looking sympathetically in his direction. They were not coming with. He supposed he was grateful. But at the same time, he felt a bit guilty for leaving them behind.

Aria, especially. He had no idea how long she had known Spencer. She seemed as though she was practically her sister-in-law. But something in her eyes clearly exuded understanding. She knew she would have a turn, but that Jason and Toby needed to see her first.

And Caleb…he hardly knew her in the first place. He was here specifically to support Toby, something he would be forever grateful for. He would probably be gone before Toby returned. Would have to get back to work and clue Byron in on everything that had been happening.

Toby had never really had a close guy friend in high school – and didn't even really realize until now how much he could have used someone like Caleb back then.

He sent him a look that he hoped conveyed as much. Caleb nodded once, a sad sort of smile donning his features. He knew.

Jason led him down the hallway, pausing in front of room 324 to glance at him cautiously.

"Are you all right?" he asked meekly.

It was a dumb question. Of course he wasn't all right. There was no part of him that was prepared for this. He had no idea what to expect, and feared that what he would find behind the door was worse than what he was already picturing. He didn't want to see her like this – whatever 'this' may be. But he needed to. He needed to look at her, needed to know that she was going to be okay.

He had to be strong for her, as she had always been for him. As he had always tried to be for _her_.

If she needed him, there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

So he tried to choke his anxiety down, and offered Jason a confident nod.

Jason pushed the door open.

She was sitting halfway upright in the bed, gazing away from them and toward the sunlight dancing into the window. There were tearstains running down her cheeks, indicating that she had been crying not long before they came in. He saw now that Jason's analysis had been correct: her wrist was bound in a cast, and she had dark, purple marks along the inside of her arm. Marks that looked suspiciously like they had been formed by a man with a very strong vice grip.

The one thing Jason had left out, though, was the bruise running along the length of her jaw line. Maybe he hadn't noticed it before. Or maybe he had left it out on purpose, having easily predicted what Toby's reaction would be.

He felt an odd sort of pain in the pit of his stomach, as though someone had stabbed him. He didn't have the whole story yet, but he had a feeling it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. There wasn't an explanation in the _world_ that would justify anyone hurting her. It was a crime against the very existence of nature – like pulling off the wings of a butterfly. Purposely harming an amazing, beautiful creature that had done no wrong, testing its resolve to continue living despite its world falling apart.

She turned to face them then, and the prickling feeling behind his eyes left almost as soon as it had arrived. Strong. He had to be strong.

"Hi," she said quietly, her voice much raspier than normal from crying.

"Hey," he agreed. He lowered himself into a chair at her bedside, carefully taking her good hand in his. Her skin was cold, and she was trembling in slight. He wrapped both palms around her tiny fingers, rubbing to generate warmth.

"How are you feeling?" Jason asked, approaching the other side of the bed and swooping down to plant a kiss on her forehead.

She offered him a half-hearted smile. "Better."

"Good." He stepped back to lean against the windowpane, crossing his arms over his chest.

There was a moment in which none of them spoke. Spencer was concentrating on her embrace with Toby, eyes shimmering with sadness. She seemed to be struggling to hold it together. He offered her a gentle squeeze, hoping to send her some of what little strength he had. She hesitantly returned the gesture.

"You really scared me today," he murmured gently, bringing their conjoined hands to his lips and resting them there. He realized after he said it that he meant it on two different but equally important levels.

Her eyes flickered to his, and he knew she was trying to read his expression. Her face said that she understood what he meant, in both contexts. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice nearly inaudible. Her mouth tightened, as if trying to stay oncoming emotions.

"When Jason called me, I didn't know what to think," he explained. "I came down here as soon as I could."

"I'm fine," she insisted, but the manner with which her voice broke contradicted the words.

He straightened his posture, prepared to argue with her. But he caught Jason out of his peripherals. He was eyeing him purposefully from his stance at the window, his face a blanket of disapproval. He knew exactly what he had been about to do. Toby met his gaze, and there was a silent understanding formed between the two of them.

"I'm glad," he said instead, though it pained him to pretend that nothing was wrong. His eyes never left Jason's, even as he said it, trying to convey his ambivalence about letting the issue pass by unaddressed.

She sighed thoughtfully to herself, following Toby's train of view. As soon as her eyes landed on her brother, he diverted his stare to the floor, uncomfortably shuffling his feet. She turned back to Toby, and he mirrored Jason's actions, finding that their clasped hands were suddenly quite fascinating.

"I know you're both waiting for me to tell you what happened," she surmised quickly, releasing a shaky breath. "But you have to promise you won't get angry."

"How can we promise something like that, Spence?" Toby uttered, bringing his gaze back to hers. The candor in her expression was sobering. There was desperate pleading in her eyes, her head shaking back and forth ever so slightly.

"Because. I've had enough with angry men for one day."

It was a fair answer. He understood that she didn't want to perpetuate the cycle. It was the very same reason she had gotten so angry with him for picking a fight with Ian the day before.

Despite her request, his jaw muscle twitched involuntarily. Just _thinking _about the person who had set the precedent for this request made him feel rather murderous, if he was being honest.

"We promise," Jason decided, sending a sidelong glance in Toby's direction. He clearly shared his hesitation, evident in the way that his hands were curling into fists at his sides. But he wasn't going to let Spencer know it. And he was asking Toby to do the same.

"All right," she began, seemingly satisfied with their response. "Ian called me last night, around three in the morning…he was outside the loft. He was drunk, and upset, and going on about how meaningless his life is."

At least he had one thing right.

"So I went outside to try to calm him down. I was sure he was going to wake someone, or the get the cops called on him. Saw that he had messed with your car." She glanced at Toby as she said this, a silent apology in her expression. "He was hysterical. Crying…shouting…couldn't even walk straight. I asked him to let me drive him home. After arguing with me for a minute, he finally agreed. I got him in my car and drove to his house."

She took a deep breath, and Toby knew she was gearing up for the worst part of the story.

"I brought him inside, and he begged me to stay. I told him no. Told him that it's over…that it's _been_ over…He got upset again…"

She trailed off, turning her face away from Toby. He had the distinct feeling that she couldn't meet his eyes for what she was about to say.

"I was trying to walk downstairs to leave. He grabbed me…he wouldn't let go. Said he deserved to know what's going on between us." She glanced briefly at Toby, signifying precisely what 'us' meant. "He got really mad. He…he hit me in the chin, and I fell."

While her eyes were trained on her lap, Toby took the opportunity to chance a glance in Jason's direction. He had already been looking at Toby, his jaw tight with irritation.

"I don't know what else happened. The fall knocked me out. And when I woke up, I was here." She raised her eyes once more, looking back and forth between the two of them as if prepared for the inevitable explosion.

"Did he call an ambulance_ for_ you?" Jason demanded, his voice laced with incredulity.

"I don't know. Maybe. That, or Maya was there, or something," Spencer offered with a clueless shrug. She ran her bandaged hand across her face briefly, wiping away the remnants of tears.

"Did you tell the doctor?" Jason asked pointedly.

She hesitated, but after a moment provided a short nod.

"Yes. Because…I don't want to do this anymore," she whimpered quietly. "All these years I kept trying to protect him…but I can't anymore. I just…I can't."

Her face contorted painfully, tears seeping from the inner corners of her eyes. Instinctively, Toby pulled her trembling figure toward his, cradling her head into his neck. This only seemed to push her further over the edge, a strangled sob escaping her throat.

"You did the right thing, Spencer," Jason said. Toby was alarmed by the strain that was present in his voice. "You don't deserve this."

"I know," she muttered tearfully, an element of impatience in her tone. "I know I don't."

Jason was quiet for a moment, allowing the conversation to marinade between the three. None of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the quiet sniffling of Spencer's face buried in Toby's shirt, and the wild thrumming of his heart.

"I'm gonna go tell the nurse we're ready to get you signed out," Jason said at last. With one final glance at Toby, he made his way out of the room.

He was glad that Jason was doing all the talking…all of the logical thinking. He wasn't sure he'd know what to say, even if he could find his voice. Where his voice box should have been was a foreign lump, blocking off his ability to speak.

"Will you come back to the loft with us?" Spencer asked quietly, one final sniffle punctuating her words.

He wanted to respond out loud, but he couldn't. So he nodded instead, his chin bobbing gently against the top of her head. She clutched onto the front of his t-shirt in a silent reply of gratitude.

His heart was pounding somewhere in his stomach, and he felt as though every one of his nerve endings were on fire. He hated Ian for everything. Everything that he had done – everything he had ever represented.

Ian better hope they never crossed paths again. Because if they did, he was going to kill him.

* * *

Within an hour's time, he was pulling up to the front of the coffee shop. He scanned the area around him and saw that Jason's car was nowhere to be found. He had clearly beat them back.

He put the truck in park and settled back against the seat, taking a moment to release the breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding all this time. He felt a bit better, now that he was out of that God-forsaken hospital. The emergency room only served to further perpetuate his anxiety and upset, and being back in a familiar place helped to relieve some of that additional stress.

He took a moment to close his eyes and concentrate on his breathing. It was important to breathe. If he was to be of any use to Spencer today, he was going to need to control himself. It was easier said than done, though. Despite the fact that some of the more irrational emotions had been left behind at the hospital, he was still feeling infuriated. That hadn't gone away. If anything, it was only increasing with every passing moment. He controlled it better in her presence – but when he was alone, it seemed to take him into its frighteningly precarious hold. He felt as though his heart was going to burst right out of his chest, his skin searing right off the bone.

He couldn't get past it, and he didn't know how he ever could. Spencer was the one person in his life that had always been there for him, no matter what. Even after they had stopped speaking, he had always known that if he needed her, she'd be there. But he had never asked. Because he was trying to be respectful of that goddamn piece of shit she was dating.

A guttural growl erupted from somewhere deep in his abdomen, and he slapped his hands, open-palm, against the steering wheel. The rush that accompanied this was empowering, so he did it again. Then again. And again. And again, until his hands were raw. Silent tears were cascading down his face out of nowhere, and his chest felt tight.

She was the last person in the world to deserve being treated with such horrendous disregard. And try as he might to wrap his head around it, it still felt like some distant nightmare. It was surrealism at its finest.

The sound of a car door squeaking open behind him was the only thing that disturbed him from his morbid reverie. He hastily wiped at his face and stepped out of the truck, preparing himself to face her once more.

But it wasn't them. It was someone who had clearly been hoping to remove his car from the scene, undetected. As he emerged from digging through the trunk, Toby got a good look at his face. He looked particularly more unkempt than normal, his suit wrinkled and tattered, his hair in messy disarray.

It was the most human he had ever looked. But Toby didn't care.

He was the last person in the world that God should be putting in front of him right now.

"You son of a bitch," he growled, and was surprised at the tone of his voice. He wouldn't have believed that it belonged to him if he had been told second-hand. It was the voice of a person who was at the end of their rope – a person who had nothing left to lose.

Ian's head snapped toward him before he had even finished the sentence. His usually-dangerous demeanor actually seemed to crack a bit under Toby's accusation, and was joined by something entirely unfamiliar.

Fear.

"Cavanaugh," he barked, but his voice sounded strained. "Don't start with me."

Toby didn't even bother to reply. He was taking slow, deliberate steps in Ian's direction, as if pulled by some invisible hook.

Despite the confidence very evidently faltering on his face, Ian was inching forward as well.

"What? What are you gonna do?" he demanded threateningly, halting at the opening of his trunk. "Gonna try to kick my ass? Show her who the bigger man is?"

Toby squared his chin, attempting to ignore the jab. "I told you not to fucking touch her."

Ian rolled his eyes melodramatically. "Ah, yes. You made a very convincing phone call, if I remember correctly."

Toby took another step forward, but paused as Ian brandished a crow bar from the depths of his car, flipping it expertly in his hand.

"Is that what you used to smash up my back window?" he said icily.

Ian smirked. "Did a bang-up job, if I say so myself." He glanced toward Toby's truck. "No pun intended."

"It's the least of my worries right now," Toby decided, following his gaze. "There's something much higher up on my priority list."

"Yeah?" Ian challenged, cocking an eyebrow in his direction. "And what's that?"

Toby returned his gaze to his, and he felt everything else melt away. His face was a stone wall of malevolence, and every one of his senses were on high alert. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn Ian took a hesitant step back in alarm at his expression.

"Ripping out your goddamn throat."

It happened in a flash. He was bounding toward Ian, and Ian was leaping at him, the crow bar poised over his shoulder.

Ian was faster – Toby felt a sudden throbbing in his left arm as the weapon made contact, and was certain he had nearly shattered the bone. He saw nothing but red as he bull-rushed him, knocking Ian backwards into his own car. The crow bar clattered noisily to the pavement as Ian slammed into the back door, setting off the alarm.

Toby used one hand to grab Ian by the cuff of the collar and the other to right-hook him in the jaw. His head snapped to one side, and he paused only to spit out a bloody tooth before he was grabbing Toby by the shoulders and changing the upper hand. He violently swung him around, shoving him against the steel. It whined in protest beneath their weight.

Toby saw stars as his spine smashed against the vehicle, hardly ducking in time to evade Ian's fist. It landed, instead, against the window, his ring leaving a very definitive crack. He cried out in pain, stepping backward to clutch at his bleeding knuckles. Toby took advantage of this, hurling his body against his once more and knocking him back into the ground.

Ian responded quickly, delivering a swift punch to the side of Toby's head. He fell onto his back, clutching at his temple and trying to mitigate the dizziness that ensued. Ian was on top of him in an instant.

"_It's not like that_, huh?" he hissed mockingly, slamming Toby against the pavement. Toby recognized the words instantly as being his own. "I thought you said you were _just friends_!"

He took hold of Ian's throat, pressing his hand against his Adam's apple. He flipped him back over and pinned him against the asphalt. Ian was growing tired more quickly now than Toby, and it was apparent in the half-hearted way he was fighting back. Toby lowered his mouth beside Ian's ear, triumphantly relishing in the way he squirmed uncomfortably against him.

"There's a special place in Hell reserved for people like you."

Ian was flailing now, but Toby retained the upper hand. His fist had found Ian's face once more, and the way his knuckles ached in reply was somehow morbidly delightful. He hit him again. And again.

He was certain he blacked out. He couldn't remember the last thing he saw before he was being lifted away, arms pinned behind his back, bucking wildly against his captor.

Ian's face was black and blue. His lip had busted open. He was writhing in agony on the ground, unable to pull himself to his feet.

And it was horrifyingly exhilarating.

He broke away once more, diving back toward the ground. He almost got away with it – but this time two people grabbed him in a physical restraint.

"Stop! Stop it!" Spencer was shrieking, her voice cracking with terror. It sounded like she was a million miles away, floating somewhere in the clouds, out of his hearing range.

He saw nothing else but Ian's struggling figure. Heard nothing but the raspy breaths he was emitting as he tried to stand. Everything was red. Oh, everything was so magnificently red…

"Toby, please!" she cried again. She had taken hold of his chin and pulled him to face her. Her figure was slowly swimming into view, and he saw that tears were pooling in the depths of her chocolate colored eyes.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Jason growled, and Toby was suddenly aware that he was the one holding him in place.

He was plummeting back to earth now. Could all of a sudden feel the bruises forming on his cheeks, and his jaw, and his arm. Recognized the sensation of hot moisture dribbling down his chin. At first he thought it was blood. But after a moment, he realized they were tears.

"Spencer," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

Jason spun him ferociously around to face him. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the new figure in front of him.

"Jason," he murmured blankly.

"LISTEN TO ME!" Jason hollered, shaking him by the shoulders. "She reported what happened, remember? The police are going to be getting involved soon. _Really soon_. Child protective services. Judges, and lawyers, and about a dozen others." His eyes were wild, a desperate plea hidden beneath the green glint. "This case can go one of two ways. _And anything you do can change it._ Do you understand me?"

Toby froze as he began to digest this, his logic slowly returning to his frazzled mind.

"If – if you kill him," Jason continued darkly, "it will be _you_ in prison."

The full meaning of Jason's words was falling into place, weighing down heavily all around him. The shame began to set in as the adrenaline phased out, and he felt suddenly weak in the knees.

Jason only barely caught him as he lost his balance, steadying him toward the stairs. "All right, all right…easy does it…"

Toby's bearings came back by the time he reached the first step, but Jason was still holding fast to his waist. He saw now that Aria was cradling Spencer, who was all but hysterical.

"Spencer," he said. "Spencer, I'm sorry."

She didn't reply. She didn't even look at him.

"Spencer, please…"

"C'mon," Jason interrupted. "I have to get you inside before someone calls the police."

He gulped against the lump in his throat, trying to control the emotions that were beginning to surface. He had frightened her. She was no less scared of him than she was of Ian.

As he allowed Jason to guide him through the front door, one glaring, terrifying thought crossed his mind.

He had broken his promise. He had failed to put her first.

And she may never forgive him for it.


	15. Until It Hurts

_**A/N: **__Quick note…I changed all of my chapter titles to Spoby soundtrack song lyrics or song lyrics that remind of them. Yay!_

_Sorry this took so long to get out. But I have this week off, so I should have more time to write later this week too!_

_Warning: INCOMING TASON FEELS. Omg. I didn't even realize how much I loved their friendship until I started writing this chapter. _

_This chapter is quite sad (in my opinion), so hopefully you'll enjoy some of the moments of comic relief that are interlaced in the first half. _

_I feel like there was one more thing I had to say, but it's escaping me entirely now._

_I love all of you, as usual! _

* * *

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 14**

_**Rosewood – June, 2007**_

"_He shoots. He scores!"_

_Toby sighed heavily, leaning down to clutch at his knees and catch his breath. The heat was becoming unbearable in these mid-afternoon hours, and he was beginning to tire quickly now. "You're kicking my ass, man." _

_Jason offered an impish grin in reply. "What can I say? Basketball is my sport." He clapped enthusiastically, jogging in place like some annoyingly perky fitness instructor on an exercise video. "C'mon, Cavanaugh! No rest for the wicked!"_

_Toby mopped the sweat from his brow, shaking the moisture from his hand. This was clearly taking more out of him than his opponent, who was dribbling the ball casually as he waited for Toby to return to the competition. _

_It was nice to have Jason home for the summer. Though Toby had never been as close with Jason as he was with Spencer, he found that he had rather missed him while he was away for his freshman year of college. As much as he enjoyed spending time with his best friend, Jason was always the person he could count on to engage him in the more 'masculine' activities that Spencer had no interest in: poker, pool, even one-on-one basketball. It felt nice to kick back and relax sometimes with another guy, and not have to worry about censoring his behavior. It was liberating to not give a crap about whether he smelled badly or belched too loudly. Not that Spencer would likely care, but there were just certain things a boy could only do in another boy's company. _

"_I need something to drink first," he announced. "Or I'm going to pass out."_

_Jason rolled his eyes melodramatically, slinging a towel around his bare shoulders. "Fine. I guess we could both use a break." _

_The air conditioning was cool and refreshing on Toby's exposed chest as they stepped through the front door of the Hastings-DiLaurentis house and headed for the kitchen. As much as he loved summer, he was tempted to hibernate indoors for a while to enjoy the frosty feeling against his skin. _

"_Here," Jason announced, tossing a water bottle from the fridge in Toby's direction. The younger boy caught it easily, raising it to his mouth as soon as he'd pulled the cap off. He hadn't realized how parched he had been, but the sand papery feeling in his mouth began to dissipate quickly. _

"_So, how's school?" Toby inquired, propping himself into a sitting position on the counter. _

_Jason grinned, running a hand through his golden locks as he sipped on his own water. "College is the best, man. No more teachers or parents telling you what to do all the damn time."_

"_Must be nice," Toby quipped. "But with my luck, my dad would probably call me everyday anyway, just to make sure I'm keeping all ten toes in line."_

_Jason chuckled lightly in response. "You'd be surprised. I thought the same thing…but I think my dad is secretly thrilled to have me out of the house."_

_The sound of car doors shutting caught Toby's attention. He turned to the front bay window, where Spencer and Ian were stepping out of Ian's Benz. Toby couldn't help but flare up a bit with jealousy at the sight of the vehicle. It had been a gift from Ian's parents a few months back for his sixteenth birthday. He was clearly spoiled, and his parents probably thought money could buy his affections. And because Ian was about as deep as a kiddie pool, they were probably right. _

_Jason followed his gaze, his mouth pursed into a thin line. "Who's this clown?"_

"_Mmm," Toby muttered thoughtfully as he took another gulp of water. "That's Spencer's new boyfriend. You mean you haven't met him yet?"_

"_She's fifteen," Jason grumbled. "She shouldn't be dating."_

_Toby grinned teasingly. "Not 'til she's thirty, right?"_

"_Exactly." Jason was massaging his knuckles peevishly, as though prepared to jack Ian in the face the second he came through the door. _

_Toby stared at him for a moment, sympathizing with his instinct to protect her. By no means was Spencer helpless. Hell, she had taken him down a fair few times during wrestling matches when they were kids. She was independent and feisty and didn't take kindly to being bossed around. But something about Ian rubbed him the wrong way, and Jason was clearly honing in on this impression much more quickly than Toby had. It was probably a __**good**__ thing Spencer's brother didn't know much about Ian – or he'd have his foot up his ass before dinner. _

"_Is – is that a Mercedes?" Jason demanded suddenly, slamming his bottle onto the counter and barreling around it to get a better look. _

"_Sure is," Toby quipped. _

"_That little dick…"_

_The door swung open and Spencer and Ian came rushing inside, laughing jovially about something-or-another. _

"_The movie was terrible," she insisted, trying to catch her breath. _

"_No, it wasn't!"_

"_Oh, come on, it was a blood bath," she chided. _

"_It's a horror movie!" he countered, putting on a flirtatious grin that made Toby extremely uncomfortable. "Maybe your taste just sucks." _

"_Excuse me?" she cried with mock incredulity. They had made it all the way into the kitchen before noticing the two boys standing idly by the counter. _

"_Hey, Spence," Toby greeted. She smiled warmly, closing in to wrap him into an enthusiastic hug. It had only been a couple of weeks since they'd seen each other, but it felt somehow much longer. _

"_Hey, you," she returned, squeezing his frame gently against hers. He noticed out of his peripherals that Ian was staring irritably in their direction, clearly seething at the fact that Toby was rubbing his exposed abdominal muscles all over his girlfriend. To make a point, Toby held on quite a bit longer than he ordinarily would have. _

"_Who's this?" Ian asked, jerking his head in Jason's direction as though he couldn't respond for himself._

"_I'm Jason, Spencer's brother," Jason quipped coldly. "And you are?"_

"_Ian." He didn't even look at him as he introduced himself, digging through the snack cupboards to find something to munch on. "Spence, do you have any chips?"_

_Jason pulled a face in Toby's direction when Spencer wasn't looking, as if to say '__**are you freaking kidding me?**__' Toby had to suppress the urge to laugh. _

"_Behind the big box of popcorn," she offered helpfully. She didn't seem to notice the dynamic occurring behind her back, and for some reason didn't appear to find anything wrong with Ian's behavior. _

"_Tortilla chips? That's it?" Ian groaned. "Fine, whatever. I'll wait until dinner." _

"_Were you guys playing basketball?" Spencer asked. _

_Jason arched an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why?"_

"_I love basketball," Ian chimed in, leaning back against the fridge and crossing his arms like the pompous creep he was. "You guys feel like playing a little 21?" _

_Jason met Toby's eyes across the counter, his expression wickedly mischievous. Toby knew precisely what the elder was thinking, and he offered a faint smirk in return. _

"_Sounds great," Jason declared with brazen confidence, tossing his water bottle back and forth between both hands. "Show us how it's done." _

_Jason's instinct – or, at least, what Toby __**assumed **__had been the instinct driving his earlier expression – had been correct. Ian wasn't a terrible player, but Jason clearly had him beat. After some minor favoritism on Toby's behalf, the points showed Jason in the lead and Ian trailing behind the other two. _

_The older boy had just succeeded in achieving all three of his free throws, and Ian was fuming. _

"_That's crap," he muttered once again. "You were over the line." _

"_Nope," Jason argued coolly. "Maybe you need glasses." _

_Toby chuckled quietly to himself, making certain that Ian didn't notice. The ball went back into play, and Jason made a purposeful fumble to give Toby possession. He took advantage of this opportunity, scoring an almost-instantaneous basket. _

"_Dude," Ian said gruffly. "You let him take that." _

"_No, I didn't," Jason said, feigning innocence. "Didn't you see him come up behind me?"_

_Ian's icy gray eyes were narrowing into malevolent slits now as he started to yank off his t-shirt. He hadn't stripped down at the start, and was clearly regretting it under the unforgivingly sweltering sun. _

"_Jay," Spencer said pointedly. She was lounging on the hood of Toby's car, iced tea in one hand and a novel in the other. "C'mon, don't cheat." _

"_I'm not cheating!" Jason said laughingly, throwing both hands into the air in mock surrender. "I swear!"_

"_All right," Toby quipped, rubbing his hands together. "Jason is leading with nineteen points. I have seventeen. Ian…twelve." _

"_Catch up, bro!" Jason joked cockily, landing a playful punch in Ian's shoulder. _

_Ian was cracking his knuckles as he seethed silently. "I plan to." _

_The ball was in the air once more, and Jason seized almost immediate possession of it. He was at the basket in an instant, and Toby did very little to try stopping him. _

"_Two points!" Jason cried, throwing his fists victoriously into the air. "That's game!"_

"_This is horse shit," Ian repeated roughly. "I want a rematch." _

"_Sorry," Jason crooned. "I think I'm done for the day. Thinking about taking a dip in the pool." _

"_No," Ian countered, stepping so closely to Jason that Toby flinched instinctively. "I want a rematch. Just me and you. No more playing keep-away with your butt buddy." _

_Spencer was on her feet now, looking leery of the situation unfolding before her. _

_Jason rolled his eyes melodramatically, using one hand to gently push Ian away. "Listen, man. I've been out of high school for a year now. I don't do the whole alpha male pissing contest shit anymore. If you're looking for a fight, go to the court at the school."_

_Ian's nostrils flared dangerously at this comment, clearly annoyed that Jason didn't take the bait. Without hesitation, he put both hands on Jason's shoulders and shoved. Toby stepped forward without even thinking about it. _

_Jason was caught relatively off-guard by Ian's audacity, stumbling back a couple feet. He recovered quickly, however – his fist was cracking across Ian's jaw faster than Toby could blink. _

"_Jason!" Spencer shrieked, aghast. _

_Ian's head snapped to the side, a look of shocked incredulity on his face. He was marching wildly in Jason's direction, Jason matching pace, only to be cut off by both Toby and Spencer inserting themselves into the tussle. Toby was facing Jason, using both hands on the elder's chest to keep him at bay, while Spencer was attempting to push Ian into walking backwards. _

"_You're dead!" Ian cried over Spencer's shoulder, his lip bleeding freely. She was struggling to hold him back. _

"_Come at me!" Jason challenged. He did not attempt to get past Toby, however. He had never been much of a fighter. In fact, this was the first time Toby had seen him hit anyone. And he had the distinct impression that it stemmed more from self-defense than anything else. _

"_Both of you! Stop!" Spencer commanded, whirling around to face Jason. "This is ridiculous! It's just a stupid game!"_

"_They started it!" Ian growled, gesturing to Jason and Toby. "They've been teaming up the whole game, trying to make me look like an idiot." _

"_If the shoe fits…" Jason muttered under his breath. Toby shot him a warning glance, as if pleading not to make him laugh in that very precarious moment. _

"_Stop it, Jason!" Spencer hissed. Her mocha eyes were flashing wildly with indignation, her expression unforgiving. "I expected more from you." _

_Jason pulled a sarcastic face and rolled his eyes, but Toby saw the hint of guilt behind it. He clearly didn't want to hurt his sister; it was quite the opposite, actually. In his own twisted way, he was protecting her. Toby knew – he could relate, on some level. _

_But she was obviously upset, taking Ian by the hand and yanking him back into the house. She had brought up the basketball thing as a way for them to bond. To find something they had in common. Maybe even get along. _

_And none of them had cared enough to even __**try**__ to do that for her. _

"_Do you feel like as much of a dick as I do?" Toby asked suddenly. _

_Jason was squinting at him in the sunlight, shrugging casually. "A little. But that mama's boy had it coming." _

"_I guess," Toby agreed quietly. "But she seems pretty upset." _

_Jason threw the basketball gently into the air, allowing it to spin on his fingertip. "She'll get over it," he decided lightly. He tossed the ball at Toby with so little warning that Toby hardly caught it against his chest. "C'mon. Forget about it. Let's play."_

_Toby reluctantly returned to the makeshift court at the front of the driveway, peering through the bay window to see that Spencer was mopping at Ian's bleeding lip. Her face was scrunched in frustration, appearing to be on the verge of tears. Ian batted her hand away repeatedly, as if content to just sit around the rest of the day with a swollen mouth. _

_She certainly deserved better. But was it really their place to be messing with him, under that simple pretense?_

"_Stop worrying about it," Jason snapped. "If it wasn't me, it would be someone else. Guaranteed."_

_He was probably right. Ian tended to rub people the wrong way on a regular basis. Jason certainly wasn't the first person to punch him, and he definitely wouldn't be the last. _

"_Your ball," Jason reminded, taking a defensive stance in preparation to block Toby's attempt to reach the net. _

_Toby finally succeeded in ungluing his eyes from the window, and started dribbling his way across the pavement. By the time he scored his first point, he had forgotten all about it. _

* * *

It was the second time today that he'd been alone in Spencer's room. Neither occasion had been particularly ideal, but the circumstances of the current situation were substantially darker in comparison.

He knew why Jason took him back to her room, specifically. The reasons were twofold. Firstly, Spencer needed a moment away from him. Secondly, it was the most prudent place for them to talk once she was ready to do so.

He stared mindlessly out the window as he waited for Jason to return. A line of storm clouds had rolled in, apropos for the current battle brewing in his brain. The pain in his arm had become all but excruciating. He hadn't paid much attention to it at the time, having been drunk on adrenaline, but he was sorely making up for it now.

It didn't matter, in truth. He deserved all of it. He had been the one to make the mistake of challenging Ian – and he needed to atone for his impulsive hostility, somehow or another.

He'd acted irrationally, yes. But at the same time, he was ensuring that Spencer would never be put in harm's way again.

He was undergoing some brutal internal battle about whether or not he had done the right thing, and all he was succeeding in accomplishing was riding out a vicious cycle.

It positively broke his heart to think that he had let her down. That he had frightened her, to some degree. She had been vying with Ian's violent side for God-knows-how-long, and now here he was: putting her in the exact same position.

It wasn't as though he had never been in a fight before. That wasn't the case. But anything that had happened in years past had been initiated by someone else – he was merely defending himself. This was the first time that he had purposely instigated it. Had no intention other than making his opponent bleed. And it had given him some morbidly electrifying rush – which was perhaps the most frightening part of it.

There was a stark contrast between he and Ian, however, and he fought to remind himself of it as he nursed his throbbing elbow. He would never do anything to hurt Spencer. End of story. And any man who though it was acceptable to strike a woman surely had an ass-beating coming, right?

But it wasn't what she wanted. She had asked him not to. And in that regard, perhaps he and Ian weren't quite as different as he would have liked to believe.

Around, and around, and around. And he was dumped unceremoniously back at square one once more.

He was so deeply engrossed in the heated angel-and-devil-on-each-shoulder dichotomy occurring in his brain that he hardly heard Jason come up behind him.

"You doing okay?" he asked, his sea-green eyes probing Toby's for what he assumed would be a far more accurate answer than whatever came out of his mouth.

"As okay as I'm going to get," Toby stated honestly.

The older man offered a somber smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He bounced the icepack he'd brought in one hand for a moment before tossing it in Toby's direction. "Here."

Toby caught it easily, taking a moment to assess which area of his body needed it most. At last he decided on his arm, which was still feeling as though it had been run over by a steamroller.

"Make sure it spends some time on your nose, too," Jason suggested quietly. "It's looking pretty nasty."

Toby chuckled darkly in reply. "It's _feeling_ pretty nasty, too."

Jason laughed a bit, but it was devoid of any actual humor. He took a seat on the edge of the bed beside Toby, leaning over his knees with his gaze trained on the floor. It was as if he was attempting to study the intricate pattern of the carpeting.

"How is she?" Toby ventured cautiously, noting the discouraging way that Jason's jaw continued to twitch.

He sighed deeply, as though trying to best determine how to explain it. "She's a little calmer now," he began. "But I'm not gonna lie to you, man – she's still pretty pissed."

Toby winced slightly, which only served to remind him of the burgeoning bruise forming along the length of his cheekbone. He relocated the ice pack.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Jason smirked a bit, which did not go unnoticed. "I _should _be mad," he decided firmly. "But I'm just not."

Toby narrowed his eyes, perplexed. Jason turned to him a bit to acknowledge his reaction before looking back to the floor once more.

"The bastard had it coming. And to be honest, if it wasn't you, it probably would have been me."

There was a beat.

"The idea of him hurting her me lose it," Toby murmured. "When I saw him, it was like every homicidal thought I've ever had about him suddenly came to life."

"She doesn't deserve the way he treats her," Jason agreed.

"No. She deserves so much better," Toby said fervently. "She deserves someone who knows exactly how amazing she is. Appreciates how beautiful she is, on the inside and out. Someone who…"

He trailed off as Jason's gaze returned to his, the elder's brow furrowed with what appeared to be amused confusion.

"It happened," Jason surmised. "Didn't it?"

The question caught him so off-guard that he couldn't formulate a viable response. His voice literally lodged itself in his throat, unusable.

"I'm sorry for what I said yesterday," Jason said sheepishly. "If I had known…"

"No," Toby interrupted. "You had every right to be concerned."

Another moment of silence settled between the two.

"She needs someone like you in her life," Jason said quietly. He offered his hand to Toby, which the younger accepted after only a moment of hesitation. Jason shook it appreciatively before sliding his palm across Toby's in some sort of secret brotherly handshake.

"I need to talk to you."

Both boys were so startled by her arrival that each of them jumped a bit. Jason was on his feet in an instant, extracting himself from the trajectory of Spencer's piercing stare.

"I know," Toby said dejectedly.

There was an awkward silence that befell the room, and Jason looked torn between giving them privacy and sticking around to make sure Toby made it out of the discussion alive.

"Do you mind telling me what the hell all of that was about?" she began slowly. The rasp of her usual tone increased threefold as she dropped an octave and said each word with careful clarity. It was what Toby liked to call her 'dangerous voice.' He would need to tread lightly.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I don't know what got into me – I just – I saw him, and…"

"And what?" she pressed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You decided to take matters into your own hands? Ignore the fact that you made me a promise?"

Her words were like pouring acid into a gaping wound. He felt guilty enough already for what had happened. Her insistence to remind him really wasn't necessary.

He didn't reply.

Her toffee-colored eyes were like daggers burning into his, and he felt as though all of the moisture had been siphoned from his mouth. That look of complete and utter betrayal pained him in ways that were entirely unfamiliar.

"I'm really disappointed, Toby."

And just like that, his guard came rearing up. It was the worst possible thing that she could say to him right now. After everything that they'd been through, everything she knew about his past. That had been the precise mantra echoed by his parents for as long as he could remember. And hearing it from her mouth awoke some terrible, proud beast within him. It was almost as though she was baiting him on purpose.

"Don't pretend like you didn't get at least _some_ morbid satisfaction from seeing him lying there," he growled. "Don't act like I'm the only one in this room who wanted to see him suffer."

Spencer pursed her lips into a thin line, considering his point. She turned to Jason, who averted his eyes instantaneously under her accusatory stare, looking extremely guilty.

"It's not the point," she mumbled at last. "The point is that you can't control your impulses."

His nostrils flared involuntarily. "My _what_?"

"You think you're doing the right thing! You – you think you're being a hero, bursting in, guns blazing like some sort of cowboy!" she shouted, her frustration increasing with each word. "But I know better, Toby. I _know_ you. And I know that you always felt like your life was out of your control. And because of that, you seem to feel this incessant need to control everyone _else's_."

Her analysis struck a nerve. She was partially right, of course. It was why he had always been so carelessly promiscuous in the first place. It was why he had never applied himself properly when he was in school. His parents left very little of his own life in his control growing up, and it pushed him into rebelling wherever and whenever he could.

She hit the nail on the head. And it only made him that much angrier.

"What's your point?" he snapped, regardless of the fact that he knew precisely what she was driving at.

She threw her hands into the air, barking bitterly at his inquiry.

"Do you really have to ask? Fine." She started counting off on her fingers as she spoke. "You don't like my situation with Ian, so you beat his ass to the ground. You don't like the fact that I'm a stripper, so you find me a new job – "

"Because I _care_ about you," he insisted, softening slightly. It perplexed him that she couldn't understand – despite how bad things looked right now – that his heart was in the right place. "I did those things because I want you to be happy."

There was a brief pause in which some amount of her conviction seemed to falter. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to stay an oncoming headache. "You can't make all of my decisions for me, Toby. It doesn't work like that."

"I'm sorry," Jason said with an uncertain brashness, a look of morbid realization crossing his features. Toby had almost forgotten he was even there. "Did you say _stripper_?"

Both Spencer and Toby turned to look at him with incredulous impatience. He held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Fine. Not the time. I get it." He started to make his exit before having an afterthought, whirling around on the spot. "But – "

"_Not now_, Jason," Spencer growled, putting both hands on his chest to back him out of the bedroom. As he stumbled haphazardly into the hallway, he continued to stare at her, still humorously flabbergasted. Under any other circumstances, the expression on his face would have been hilarious.

"This conversation isn't over," he declared pathetically.

"Okay, _Greg Brady_," she scoffed. Before he could even reply to her sarcastic jab, she had already slammed the door in his face.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence that settled between them as she slowly made her way to sit beside him on the bed. She was avoiding his eyes purposely. He, on the other hand, could not seem to bring himself to stop looking at her.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. She winced slightly. "I know it doesn't mean much right now…but just know…I am."

"I know," she agreed in a quiet murmur.

He hesitated for only a second before reaching for her hand in her lap. She did not pull away from him, but she also did not respond to his fingers lacing through hers, her hold remaining limp.

"What I did was wrong," he continued. "I never should have let him goad me the way I did. I should have remembered my promise."

Her eyes fluttered shut silently, a single tear seeping out from beneath her delicate lashes. Instinctively, he reached out to brush it away with his free hand, allowing his thumb to linger across the expanse of her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch, her gaze still downcast. She looked so torn between affection and pain that it literally caused his stomach to ache.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. She collapsed against him without a fight, like a rag doll, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

"I would never do anything to hurt you," he whispered, pressing his mouth against the top of her head. "You have to believe that."

"I don't know what to believe anymore," she said, her voice raspy from incoming emotion.

He pulled away, startled by the statement. Her doe eyes gazed sadly into his, her face a cracking mask of confidence. With every second, her strength was faltering more and more.

"Don't say that," he muttered. "Please."

She gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head, her mouth puckering into an involuntary frown. "I can't do this, Toby. I just can't."

"Spence," he pleaded desperately, clutching her face in his trembling hands. He could feel the beginnings of tears pooling maliciously in the corners of his eyes. "I can't lose you."

She chewed on her bottom lip uncertainly, as if trying to formulate a valid argument. When she said nothing, he leaned his forehead against hers, the cold skin on his cheeks warmed by the moisture cascading down her delicate face. He positively couldn't stand to see her cry. Every moment of this hurt more than any of the injuries he had sustained, combined.

"Last night meant everything to me," he said hoarsely. "It meant so much more than you could possibly know."

She sniffled quietly, her eyes darting back and forth between his in their very close proximity. The fact that she was continuing to cry – that she was neglecting to acknowledge what he was saying, or even attempt to agree – terrified him to his very core.

"Please," he murmured, his voice cracking. He leaned forward to trap the tip of her nose in his lips. He then moved to her forehead, and began to plant a trail of butterfly kisses from there, taking the free-flowing tears from her cheeks hostage against his tongue. And then he hesitantly pressed his mouth against hers, startled to find that her lips were trembling. His heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach when she didn't respond after a moment, and he pulled back to choke down the lump in his throat.

"Toby," she said quietly, her voice thick with the vocal ache that accompanied crying. "I'm sorry…"

That was it. That simple, two-word statement was enough to make him feel as though he'd been electrocuted. He pulled away from her to assess her face, horrified to see that her expression was grave, her eyes devastated. She could hardly look at him.

"You don't understand," he began brashly, attempting to talk past the impending sobs that were lodged in his windpipe.

It was colliding with his psyche like a freight train now as everything started to make sense. She'd been his rock, for as long as he could remember. She had been everything he had ever needed. She made him realize what it was like to feel truly and utterly alive.

He literally could not live without her. And the thought of trying made him feel small and helpless, like an abandoned child, alone in a world that showed no mercy. He had the fleeting recollection of when he had run away from home at the age of six, only to find himself cold and frightened in a torrential rainstorm, his solitary shelter a three-foot awning above the bus stop. He remembered thinking that he would never survive it. Would never be able to pick up the pieces and move on from there. It had caused him to go running back home.

He was always running backwards. As much as he wanted to think he didn't, he always had. That's why he stopped taking risks. It was why he chose to keep his guard up and keep himself protected. It was why he swore off love, and relationships, and getting close to anyone outside of his family and Spencer. How he could so easily walk away from a broken, desperate person like CeCe and barely bat an eyelash.

He was having sudden difficulty breathing.

"I love you," he whispered, before he even realized the words were leaving his mouth. Once they had fallen off of his tongue, he realized how easy they truly were to say. "I love you, Spencer," he repeated more confidently, reaching out to take her hands in his. "Please."

She instantly pulled her hands out of his and replaced them on her mouth to stifle her sobs. She didn't look at all surprised by what he had said. It was almost as though she had been expecting to hear it. But the emotion that overtook her in that moment certainly wasn't the desired response, either.

"I can't," she barely eked out, her voice staccatoed by her weeping. "I can't, I can't, I can't."

"Why?" he demanded fervently. "Why not?"

She combed her fingers into her hair, her breathing reduced to quick, hysterical pants.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, leaping to her feet. She was bee lining for the exit before he even realized what was happening, and the moment he stood to follow her, the sound of the front door slamming shattered his resolve into a thousand pieces.

Everything stopped. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and it suddenly hurt very badly to breathe.

It was like being in the eye of a hurricane. He knew what was coming. Knew that the gravity of what he had done would hit him within a mere few moments. His thoughts seemed to cease their racing, floating by in slow motion as he felt the agony in the pit of his stomach begin to rise throughout his body.

He lowered himself back onto the bed, a single sob ripping past his vocal cords without warning. He cradled his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to catch his breath. Trying to digest what had just happened. Trying to make sense of anything – anything at all.

He started to count backwards to avoid the incoming panic attack, feeling as though his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

100, 99, 98, 97, 96…

Saying the words had been every bit as painful as he had always feared. They'd tumbled out with far more ease than he had ever expected they would, but here he was – alone, frightened, helpless, and small.

Like a child.

90, 89, 87, 86, 85…

The room was closing in. It was unfamiliar. It was foreign. It was not his own. He needed space. Needed fresh air. Needed breathing room.

84, 83, 82, 81, 80…

He jumped to his feet and barreled into the hallway, making his way straight for the front door.

"Toby?" Jason demanded, standing in alarm. "What's going on? Where did Spencer go?"

"No idea," he muttered distantly. He hardly noticed the grief that laced his own voice.

"What's wrong?" Aria asked worriedly. He had almost forgotten she was even there.

"Nothing."

Jason pursed his lips tightly. "Tob – "

He'd slammed the door shut behind him before Jason had even finished saying his name. He was sprinting down the stairs two at a time back to his car, finding that the clouds had obscured the sun entirely.

59, 58, 57, 56, 55…

He didn't know where the hell he would go. Where was left to go? Who else in his life could he rely in?

No one. The answer was no one. No one that he deserved, anyway.

He had blown Caleb off all week, like some monumentally bad best friend.

He hadn't even bothered to return Emily's texts.

He hadn't seen his parents in almost three years. They only communicated via brief voicemails and truncated text messages. And he had never realized how sad and pathetic it was until just now.

No one. No one. No one.

39, 38, 37, 36, 35…

Nothing could have prepared him for this. It was an entirely foreign feeling that tore mercilessly at his insides, trying to claw its way free. He felt like he was going to die. It was his worst dream come true: being completely and utterly out of control.

Worst _nightmare_ come true.

25, 24, 23, 22, 21…

He was pulling into the driveway before he even quite realized it had been his trajectory all along. He stepped out into the evening air, finding that it was now thick with pressure. He could hear thunder rumbling in the distance, a few stray raindrops trickling down from the blanket of clouds that armored the sky.

15, 14, 13, 12, 11…

His shoes clomped heavily against the porch steps as he darted across them. He raised his fist to the wooden surface of the door, knocking firmly three times.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6…

It took only a moment before his companion was pulling the door open, perplexed at the surprise arrival. His black eyes softened slightly at the sight before him. The sight of a man – no – a boy, a frightened little boy – standing on his porch, face covered in mysterious wounds and bruises, phantom tears cascading down his prominent cheek bones.

"What happened?" he breathed. "Are you all right?"

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

He took a deep breath, finally feeling as though some of the tension had left his shoulders. Just like that – just hearing someone's voice other than his own hollering wildly in his head – and everything in his brain was set to mute.

"Hey, Caleb," he murmured quietly, every bit of his hard exterior stripped away. He sounded far more vulnerable than he ever had, and he barely recognized his own voice. "Can…I come in?"

His friend smiled sadly in reply, holding the door open at its full width. "You don't even have to ask."


	16. Kiss Me Like You Wanna Be Loved

_**A/N: **I think there was something I wanted to say, but I already forget. I love all of you and I really appreciate your feedback, especially the specific reviews. You guys are amazing. Anyway - I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

**SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

**CHAPTER 15**

_**Rosewood – Summer, 2008**_

_The Hastings-DiLaurentis family was notorious for throwing the most elaborate parties in Rosewood. It didn't matter whether it was a birthday celebration for a five-year old nephew or a retirement party for Grandma: they planned out every intricate detail for weeks in advance, seeking the most renowned caterers, florists, and on some occasions, entertainment. And because Peter and Veronica Hastings loved nothing more than waving around their pocketbooks, they almost always were able to reserve whatever service they sought, regardless of whether the vendor had been previously booked or not. _

_Therefore, per their traditional ostentatiousness, they had organized the event of the century to celebrate Spencer's sister, Melissa's, newly announced engagement. It was probable that at least ninety percent of their tiny town was in attendance, in addition to family that had traveled from far corners of the globe. People were overflowing out onto the patio and into the Cavanaugh yard space, which Jack and Marion generously welcomed. _

_Toby, however, was just trying to get through the day without killing himself. Jason, who had similar feelings about such gatherings and empathized with the pain that Toby was enduring, had consented to share the vodka he'd swiped from his parents' liquor cabinet. The two had been secretly mixing it into their soda for hours. It had the potential to end disastrously, of course, but neither really cared after the buzz kicked in. At least this way Toby was more prone to giggling at Spencer's pretentious uncle bragging about his yacht than launching into a diatribe about consumerism. _

_He and Jason had been in the middle of sketching suggestive stick figures on cocktail napkins when Spencer inserted herself on the couch between them, looking flustered. _

"_Save me." _

_The two boys glanced at one another briefly, silently agreeing to let her join the real party. Jason held out his solo cup as a means of official initiation, which she all but downed. A grimace appeared on her face as the liquor burned her esophagus, and she exhaled sharply. _

"_What's wrong?" Toby asked. _

"_It's Melissa's fiancé," Spencer grumbled. "He overheard me telling Mom that I hurt my back setting up the tent outside, and he keeps insisting that he can correct the problem." _

_Jason blew a loud raspberry, glancing around surreptitiously before unearthing the pint of vodka from the inside of his suit coat. _

"_That pompous piece of shit thinks he knows everything," he complained as he replenished his and Toby's drinks. "God, I hate him." _

"_Don't let Melissa hear you say that," Spencer muttered, seizing the cup from his hold and taking a generous sip. "She thinks Wren's the most wonderful thing since sliced bread."_

_Jason scoffed. "Of course she does. He probably told her he invented it."_

_Spencer laughed into the cup, nearly spitting it all back out. Her eyes fell on the napkins that donned the coffee table, picking one up and pulling a face. _

"_What's this supposed to be?" _

_Toby helpfully corrected the angle of the picture by rotating it. Once she saw it, her eyes widened in mock indignation. _

"_Oh…holy crap. That's…graphic." _

_Jason and Toby began snickering to themselves in reply, to which she smiled broadly. _

"_Don't let Mom and Dad find these, Jay," she suggested, gathering them up and stuffing them into his breast pocket. "They'll start talking about sending you back to that counselor."_

"_Shit," Toby muttered as his eyes fell on the figure approaching them. "He's coming." _

_All three of them straightened their postures, as if this would deflect any suspicion that they'd been doing anything wrong. _

"_Spencer," Wren crooned as he came to stand in front of them, his face spreading into a wide smile. "I've been looking everywhere for you."_

_Toby chanced a glance at Jason across Spencer's figure, and found that it was inexplicably difficult to suppress his laughter. _

"_Well…here I am," she chirped with feigned enthusiasm. _

"_I was thinking," Wren continued, oblivious to the secret joke shared by the trio on the couch. "What you said about your back – we spent a great deal of time studying massage techniques in medical school." _

_The emphasis he put on the term 'medical school' made it sound like he was talking about a beloved pet, and Toby had to restrain his amusement. _

"…_And I'd bet dollars to donuts that your discomfort stems from your bursa sac." _

_There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then, at last, Jason burst into unbridled laughter, burying his face in his hands to attempt to hide his hysteria. It was like a domino effect: Toby was the next to start guffawing, and then Spencer snorted involuntarily, pursing her lips together to stifle it as much as possible. _

_Wren looked absolutely bemused at their reaction, and appeared suddenly far more uncomfortable than Toby had seen him all day. _

"_Well…all right. If you decide you'd like me to take a look at it, I'll be…around."_

"_Sure," Spencer squeaked briefly, and Toby knew that if she said anything more, she'd be bursting into giggles as well. _

_He provided them one last look of embarrassed confusion before turning back and heading in Melissa's direction. As if on cue, Spencer backhanded both Jason and Toby on the shoulders disapprovingly, her resolve cracking entirely as a wide grin spread across her face. _

"_You guys!" she chastised laughingly. "That was so rude!"_

"_What the hell is a bursa sac?" Toby demanded, wiping tears from his eyes. _

"_Hey – hey – want me to massage your __**bursa sac**__?" Jason asked suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. He and Toby broke into raucous laughter once more, and Spencer rolled her eyes teasingly. _

"_I think you both need to lay off the vodka for the rest of the day," she said in undertones, looking pointedly at the opening of Jason's jacket. _

"_Spencer, if you know me at all, you'd know that I don't need to be drunk to laugh at a conversation like that," Jason corrected. As if to prove a point, he took another sip from his cup. _

"_Was he hitting on you?" Toby asked brashly, the unusualness of Wren's behavior beginning to sink in. _

_Spencer pulled a face, waving her hand dismissively in his direction. "God, no. He's just trying to win the rest of us over." _

"_You don't see him offering __**me**__ any massages," Jason said suspiciously, cocking an eyebrow at his sister. "I think Toby might be on to something." _

_She chuckled darkly. "That's ridiculous. He loves Melissa." _

"_Just because you love someone doesn't mean you don't find other people attractive," Jason quipped, sipping at his drink again. _

_She looked honestly perplexed by his statement, her brow furrowing in that characteristic way that made her look much younger than she actually was. _

"_But people who are really in love should only want to have sex with that person," she argued. "I mean, that's what love is." _

_Jason exchanged a look with Toby, as if to silently inquire which side he was on. The younger offered a meager shrug in reply. _

"_Jason's right," he said. "I mean, it's why people cheat on each other all the time." _

_She looked utterly horrified, as though she had been told that Santa Claus wasn't real all over again. _

"_That's disgusting," she muttered. _

"_That's life," Jason countered, planting a playful punch on her knee. "Hit and quit it." _

_She sighed. "You're so __**very**__ mature. I don't even know how you – "_

_She stopped abruptly. Veronica and Melissa were striding toward them, looking ready to spit fire. _

"_Jason DiLaurentis," Veronica snapped, holding her hand out expectantly. "Vodka. Now." _

"_Okay, Mom, you only had to ask," Jason said cheekily, holding out his solo cup for her to take. _

_Spencer made some sort of weak whimpering noise in the back of her throat, as if preparing herself for the onslaught. _

_Veronica did not evidently find it funny, either. She was grabbing onto the neck of the bottle protruding from his suit coat, looking livid. _

"_How could you? At my engagement party?" Melissa said, a strange sort of feigned tearfulness lacing her voice. Toby had spent his entire life watching Spencer's oldest sibling use expert tactics of manipulation to get her way; he knew by now how she operated. _

"_How'd you even find out?" Jason asked casually. _

"_Wren said the three of you smelled like a mini bar," Melissa spat. "Clearly he was right." _

"_You two," Veronica said, pointing back and forth from Spencer to Jason, "rooms. Now. Before I tell your father."_

_That was the tipping point. They both stood and began to scramble away in desperate obedience. Toby found it briefly amusing that even Jason, who was about to start his junior year of college, was reduced to a child at that threat. _

"_And you," Veronica said waspishly, pointing at Toby. "I expected better from you." _

"_I'm sorry, Mrs. Hastings," he mumbled quietly, unable to suppress an invasive hiccup. _

"_I'll bet your father cannot __**wait**__ to hear about this." _

_Toby's mouth went instantly dry, and he shook his head with such fervor that he was certain he'd have a migraine in a few hours' time. "Please, Mrs. Hastings…don't tell my dad…he'll kill me…"_

_She pursed her lips tightly together, as if trying to resist rising feelings of guilt. _

"_Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to take something that doesn't belong to you."_

"_Mom, don't," Spencer pleaded, and Toby was startled to find that she was still standing within hearing distance of their conversation. "It's not Toby's fault, or Jason's. I was the one that took it. I talked them into drinking with me." _

_Veronica narrowed her eyes at Spencer, as if trying to determine the legitimacy of her claim. Melissa, on the other hand, jumped at the opportunity. _

"_You just couldn't stand the idea of me being happy today, could you?" she barked. "You just had to pull a __**Spencer**__!"_

_This seemed confirmation enough for Veronica, who was now trying fruitlessly to calm her oldest daughter by cradling her in her arms. _

"_You're grounded, Spencer," she declared brashly, before stepping away. She did not so much as look at Toby again as she retreated, and he breathed a sharp sigh of relief. _

"_You didn't have to do that," he mumbled, concentrating on his wringing hands in his lap. _

_She curled her arms around his shoulders from behind, squeezing him in a brief hug. _

"_It's okay. She'll be over it by tomorrow. Promise."_

_Absent-mindedly he reached up to grasp at her arm, rubbing the pad of his thumb along her skin in silent gratitude. _

"_I do have to go to my room though, before she brings my dad into it." She pulled back, patting him one last time on the shoulder. "I'll see you later, okay?" _

"_Okay," he murmured. He watched her disappear up the stairs, feeling somehow much more sober than he had only moments before. She had saved his life. Had almost __**literally**__ saved his life. If Veronica had told his dad…he shuddered at the very notion. _

_He stood and haphazardly stumbled toward the door, feeling completely out of the partying mood. He had the sudden urge to lie down and sleep for sixteen hours. And when he awoke, he planned to spend the __**next **__sixteen hours doing something nice for his best friend. _

* * *

He hadn't the faintest intention of telling the gruesome tale to Caleb when he walked through the door. He truly hadn't. He had planned to keep the visit as jovial as possible, perhaps by sharing a few beers and tuning in to some innocuous sporting event. At the most, maybe make a joke or two about how hideous his mauled face must look.

They were men, for Christ's sake. They weren't supposed to get their hands dirty with emotional upheaval and complaints of unrequited love. They were specifically wired to rub dirt in the wound and walk it off.

But things were never that easy with Caleb, who seemed to watch more Dr. Phil than ESPN these days. Toby had teased him for so long about how rapidly he had synchronized with Hanna's proclivity for sensitivity, domesticating himself faster than anyone at the dealership could blink. How he had willingly thrown out his _Maxim _magazines to make room for _Better Homes and Gardens_. That he had actually begun to care about Feng Shui and color coordination when organizing the rooms of their home.

He had never understood it before. But if he was being honest, he found, as of late, that some invasive symbiote had begun to worm its way into his system, hijacking any and all thoughts or values he had previously deemed unshakeable. This mysterious monster bore several identities, but none were more alarmingly unwelcome than 'jealousy' and 'loneliness.' He had never cared before about white picket fences, or color swatches, or having an Art Van credit card. But God help him, he could feel himself crossing over to the dark side.

And Emily's presence certainly wasn't helping him achieve his goal of secrecy, either. Her mere existence traditionally operated as something of a catalyst when it came to gut-spilling. The way her ebony eyes glistened with empathy and concern, he could not help but confide in her.

So there they sat, in the Marin-Rivers living room, sipping on Budweiser and listening to some obscure music station playing through the satellite dish. He had only had a few beers so far, but was beginning to feel the effects traveling to the tips of his fingers and toes. He welcomed the beginnings of numbness – anything was better than being forced to feel every miniscule pin prick that rehashing the story would otherwise create.

Caleb and Emily were both listening intently to the unfolding of Toby's day, waiting with bated breath for what would come next. He had to admit: they were kind of the perfect audience members. They '_ooh_'-ed and '_ahh_'-ed at all the appropriate times, their faces enthusiastic masks of morbid fascination. He was feeling suddenly and inexplicably like a one-man show of Shakespearean tragedy. The only thing missing was a gigantic bucket of popcorn to perch between the viewers on the sofa.

When at last the tale was told, they were silent for a moment. Then Emily cracked the fourth wall by exhaling with a loud '_whoosh_.'

"He came at you with a _crowbar_?" Caleb demanded, evidently still processing details from ten minutes prior.

Toby opened his mouth to reply, but Emily beat him to the punch.

"Of course he did," she said matter-of-factly. "Haven't you been paying attention? He's obviously got anger issues!"

Toby nodded. "Yeah, he – "

"I _understand_ that," Caleb agreed impatiently, completely ignoring Toby's interjection. "But I just can't believe he'd risk it, having a child and everything."

Toby shrugged. "Well – "

Emily huffed irritably. "Sociopaths don't think of anybody but themselves, Caleb."

"Who said he was a sociopath?" Caleb countered, gesturing furiously with beer bottle in hand. "For all we know he could just be a good old-fashioned asshole!"

"Well, of course he's that, too," Emily said with a roll of her eyes. "I mean, I'm not defending him. He hit Spencer. And attacked Toby."

Toby cleared his throat. "Actually, I was the one who started – "

This time Caleb actually _put his hand up_ to silence Toby as he proceeded to argue his point, as if he were a persistent child. He didn't even bother to otherwise glance in his direction, eyes still trained on Emily.

"Spencer doesn't understand that it was self defense, though," Caleb continued brashly. "She's upset because as far as she can see, he just proved that he also uses physical force to solve problems."

Ouch. Seriously?

"Guys?"

"But she's got to see that Toby is nothing like Ian," Emily said, shaking her head with enthusiastic vigor. "They are two totally different people."

"Hey – you guys – "

"Of course they are," Caleb agreed. "But she's trying to think of her son, and how he's being raised – "

"OH, MY GOD!" Toby hollered. "CAN YOU FINISH YOUR LITTLE BOOK CLUB MEETING LATER? PLEASE?"

They both turned to him abruptly, their horrified expressions making it obvious that they'd been startled into silence.

He sighed heavily, feeling suddenly rather foolish for blowing up. When he next spoke, his voice sounded meek and child-like. "Um…thank you."

Emily cocked her head at him sympathetically, relocating herself from the sofa to loveseat to sit beside him. "I'm sorry," she said immediately, putting a comforting hand on his knee. He didn't really know whether she was referring to the debate that had just adjourned, or the entirety of the situation in general.

"Me, too," Caleb agreed, leaping from his seat to squeeze in on Toby's other side. He clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"It's all right," Toby replied pathetically, his eyes mindlessly focusing in and out on the framed engagement pictures of Hanna and Caleb that adorned the opposite wall. The two looked so blissfully oblivious to the world around them that he had to glance away in silent envy after a moment. "I'm gonna go over there to talk to her in a little while, I think."

Emily and Caleb exchanged a look across his frame.

"Um, Toby," Emily began gently, "maybe you should give her some space."

"Space?"

"Yeah," Caleb quipped, pushing a piece of hair out of his eyes. "I mean…you're both kind of…um…"

"Upset," Emily finished.

"Yeah, and confused," Caleb added.

"I'm not confused," Toby argued vehemently, purposely avoiding their pitying eyes. He instead concentrated on peeling at the corner of the label on his beer bottle. "I know what I want."

"Yes…" Emily started. "But Spencer is…uh…"

"Overwhelmed," Caleb cut in.

"Okay, the two of you need to stop finishing each other's sentences," Toby muttered irritably.

"Sorry," Emily said immediately. "Cousins and all. Habit."

Toby chuckled darkly, peering at Caleb from the corners of his eyes. "Do you and Hanna do that, too?"

"Do what?"

The three looked up to regard the new voice. Hanna had just walked into the house, a tiny brunette in tow.

"Finish each other's sentences," Caleb explained. The nature of his tone had changed upon seeing her, his face spreading into a wide grin.

She returned the smile, leaning over the back of the couch to share a quick kiss with him.

"We _do_ do that sometimes," she offered to Toby, curling her arms around Caleb's shoulders from behind. "But him and Emily do it more."

The three on the loveseat shared a brief chuckle, having just discussed this a few moments prior.

"Hi, Toby," the newcomer interjected flirtatiously, coming up to stand beside Hanna. Her hair was pulled into a side ponytail that looked entirely too young for her already-juvenile demeanor, and she had so much makeup slathered on her face that she looked more like a street walker than a respectable day care coordinator. She was wearing a form fitting red dress that left very little to the imagination, its skirt hiked high and neckline plunging low.

Three months ago, he would have paused to appreciate her figure. Today, however, he only felt annoyance.

"You remember Mona, right?" Hanna chirped.

"Yeah," he muttered, turning to offer a forced smile in their direction. _Unfortunately_.

"Oh, my God," Hanna declared suddenly, her hand flying worriedly to Toby's shoulder. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He was momentarily confused. Caleb grimaced slightly, waving a finger around his own face to elaborate for him.

Oh, right. The fact that he looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder.

"I'm fine," he answered hastily. "Just some guy who thought it'd be cute to key my car."

It was the truth, after all. Just not all of it.

"So you just attacked him?" Mona gasped. She did not try very hard to hide her admiration.

"No," Toby said flatly. "He pulled out a crowbar."

"Wow," she breathed, reaching out to touch the burgeoning bruise taking shape on his cheekbone. She probably intended to be gentle, but the pressure of her fingertips made him flinch backward.

"I'm fine."

"Me and Mona were talking about taking a dip in the hot tub," Hanna announced, opting to change the subject. "Do you guys want to join us?"

Caleb's eyes flickered to Toby's, as if asking his permission. Toby shrugged shortly in reply to indicate that he didn't care one way or the other.

"Sure," Caleb responded, turning back to his fiancé.

"Great!" Hanna said happily. "Baby, why don't you see if you have an extra pair of swim shorts for Toby? And Em, you can borrow something from me."

Emily smiled politely. "Okay." She glanced at Toby one final time, as if to give him one last gesture of encouragement, before standing to follow the girls.

Once they were out of earshot, Caleb turned back to his friend, lowering his voice.

"You sure about this?"

"About what?" Toby asked.

"About…you know…hanging out with Mona," he muttered. "It won't be weird, will it?"

"We're the Best Man and Maid of Honor. I'm about to spend the entire weekend with her," Toby said sarcastically. "If I can't handle her for an hour or so, then we have a big problem."

Caleb laughed and nodded thoughtfully, as if to agree with Toby's point.

Toby sighed melodramatically, turning over his empty bottle in hand. "I will, however, need another beer."

* * *

The warmth of the hot tub was precisely what he needed to soothe the aching muscles throughout his body. It was like the jets were providing him tiny massages all over, and he finally felt like it was acceptable to relax a bit. He had been much tenser than he had realized. It had, after all, been possibly the most stressful week of his life.

The beer coursing through his system was most likely contributing to this feeling of quiet euphoria, as well. It had certainly helped him shut his brain off for the time being, a phenomenon he had been silently craving for the past several days.

Hanna was rambling on about the rehearsal dinner taking place in two days. He probably should have been paying closer attention to what were probably numerous important details. But instead he had allowed his eyes to flutter shut, letting the hot water to lull him into a state of pseudo-slumber.

"…And the best thing about Shermino's is that the owner went to high school with my mom, and that means we get to use the VIP room for free," Hanna gushed, reaching for the wine glass on the rim of the tub beside her. "They seriously have the most delicious food in Philadelphia. We're lucky we get to do the rehearsal dinner there. They're usually booked solid for months in advance."

Toby chanced a glance at Emily, who looked like she was enduring a similar feeling of semi-consciousness. Her eyes had all but glazed over as she stared at Hanna, trying her damnedest to provide her undivided attention. The reality, however, was that Hanna tended to talk much more than necessary, and it required an immense amount of effort to _not_ tune her out after a while.

"…_So_ grateful that all of the planning is out of the way…"

Mona, of course, could not look more excited if she were being paid.

Caleb, too, looked completely engaged in his fiancé's drawn-out speech, his face a blanket of unbridled love and appreciation.

It occurred to Toby that this was precisely what love really meant. It wasn't about just tolerating their flaws, but actually adoring them all the more _for _their flaws. The concept of a soul mate was centered around finding someone who completes you. Someone who carries qualities that you've missed out on, or wish you could possess.

Toby found Hanna to be quite kind and enjoyable to be around, but he simultaneously felt overwhelmed by her mile-a-minute monologues.

But Caleb, who had been rather quiet all his life, clearly loved having a mate that did all the talking. Perhaps her strong-willed voice was what he'd been secretly needing. Maybe she said all the things he wished he could, and he was grateful for her ability to take this dauntless task away from him.

"…I told my mother that there's absolutely no way I'm settling for lilies when I specifically wanted roses! We're just going to have to go with our Plan B florist instead…"

It was difficult to say, really. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Spencer's obsession with schoolwork and obtaining knowledge had rubbed countless people the wrong way while they were growing up. Ian, for one, had always been insanely irritated by the fact that Spencer preferred spending some nights at home reading instead of going to yet another party.

Toby had always regarded her nerdy side as being endearing. He loved watching her concentrate on a math problem, or immerse herself in a particularly captivating novel. Hell, he didn't even mind reading over her essays, though truth be told, he had never quite understood what value he could provide for them.

All of these things caused her face to light up with such unabashed joy that he simply could not find a shred of negativity in them. They were what made Spencer _Spencer_, and he would not change her for the world.

The realization that his brain had traveled in this direction was moderately sobering, so he took another generous gulp of Budweiser to push the thoughts aside.

"…All set for Saturday."

There was a deafening silence that followed, and Toby realized that Hanna had actually finished talking. She was beaming at Caleb affectionately, leaning forward to plant a short kiss on his lips.

"Well, I'd better get going," Emily muttered, taking this opportunity to make her escape. "It's getting late."

"Yeah," Caleb agreed, stretching gratuitously before he began standing. "It's just about bedtime for us."

"Oh, c'mon," Mona complained lightly. "The party was just getting started."

"If I don't get a solid eight hours of sleep, I get bags under my eyes," Hanna argued gently, following Caleb's lead.

Mona pouted melodramatically, swirling her wine around in its flute. "Toby will stay with me. Won't you, Toby?"

The question caught him entirely off-guard. He could truthfully think of nothing else he'd hate more.

"Sure, you guys can hang for a bit," Hanna said brightly. "Just make sure you lock up when you leave."

Toby chanced a glance at Caleb, who was grimacing sympathetically.

"I should probably go too," he decided suddenly. He made his way to rise to his feet, but Mona held fast to his wrist.

"Actually, I really need to talk to you."

She needed to talk to him? What the hell about?

She eyed him pointedly, and he got the sudden impression that it was some sort of top-secret wedding business that could not be discussed around Hanna or Caleb.

"Okay…" he said uncertainly, settling back onto the makeshift seat beneath the bubbles.

"See you tomorrow, Tobes," Emily said, her tone silently wishing him luck.

"Good night," Caleb agreed. And with that, the other three disappeared through the door wall.

It was just him and Mona. It became glaringly obvious that they had absolutely nothing in common to discuss, and he wanted nothing more than for her to cut to the chase so he could go home.

"What's on your mind, Mona?" he ventured cautiously, concentrating on the dotted form of the Big Dipper above his head.

"Well," she began sheepishly, and her voice sounded far more hesitant than he had ever heard it. "I've been thinking a lot about last September."

September? Shit. No. No, no, no.

"Mona – " he began wearily, but she cut him off in an instant.

"I know that neither of us wanted a relationship," she continued. "And I still don't."

He furrowed his brow in her direction, trying to interpret her meaning. She began sliding across the bench to sit flush beside him, her hand finding the edge of his knee.

Oh. _Ohhh_.

He sighed, politely removing her hold from his leg. "Mona, listen…you've been drinking, and – "

She dove at him, her lips crashing onto his. It took him several moments before he realized what was happening, and when he did, he pulled away with such force that it resulted in a noise that sounded akin to tugging a suction cup from a window.

"We can't," he said wearily.

Her hand slid up the length of his pectoral muscle, eyes blazing with fiery intensity. "Why not?" she said in a low voice. "Toby, face it. Our best friends are getting married this weekend. Don't you feel the least bit lonely this week?"

She had no idea. The worst part was, it was the sort of loneliness that had more than one layer: he had never felt as close to Spencer as he had the past few days, but at the same time, had never felt so far away.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," she breathed, curling her fingers around the nape of his neck. "Just like last time. Just a friendly rendezvous between friends. Right?"

He studied her expression carefully, but did not reply. She took this as an invitation to continue what she had started, planting a trail of kisses from his earlobe to his collarbone. It was a strange feeling, really. Painful but somehow morbidly satisfying, like chewing on a burgeoning canker sore. The alcohol in his blood stream certainly welcomed the sensation of a woman's lips, but his heart ached at the very thought.

When he did not push her away, she slowly made her way back to his mouth. He did not respond at first, but he also did not stop it. Her lips left a burning sensation in their wake, as if they were excreting some sort of slow-acting poison. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he tried to envision that it was Spencer instead of Mona. He pictured her brown curls cascading around his face like a curtain, her dark eyelashes tickling his cheekbones as she pressed her face to his. He could still see her beautiful figure in bed beside him, her skin glowing in the moonlight like she emitted some ethereal light of her own.

But it was not enough. Mona was not Spencer. Her touch felt foreign and somehow painful, and he could not ignore the fact that the entire thing made him feel absolutely nauseated.

He pulled away again, craning his neck away from her embrace. She paused, her bottom lip trembling self-consciously as she assessed his face.

"What am I doing wrong?" she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

And suddenly, he felt sorry for her. Mona Vanderwaal – the girl who had always annoyed him to no end every time he saw her – was quickly becoming a human before his very eyes.

Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was him that was shedding a skin that no longer fit correctly. It was a completely new concept, really…not only resisting a woman, but also feeling such strong sympathy for what was clearly an issue with deep-seated insecurity.

"Nothing," he said gently, rubbing her shoulder with platonic comfort. "I just…I'm…"

She peered at him desperately, her dark eyes shining with fear of what he was going to say.

He exhaled heavily as the sobriety began to overtake him. "I'm in love with someone else."

She recoiled sharply at this as if slapped, her face a mask of perplexity.

"I thought you didn't believe in love."

He cleared his throat thoughtfully, looking down at the water bubbling around them. "I _didn't_."

There was a moment of silence as the statement sunk in for both of them. Then, at last, she made a quiet humming noise of contentment.

"Good for you, Toby Cavanaugh," she murmured, a sad smile spreading across her face. She leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek, ruffling his hair affectionately before standing to climb out of the hot tub.

"Thanks," he said uncertainly. He watched as she pulled her towel around her frame. She looked genuinely all right with his confession, which only served to remind him of how little he truly understood women.

She was halfway through the sliding glass door when he called to her.

"Mona?"

She turned to face him, dabbing at the ends of her hair. "Yeah?"

He took a deep breath, wondering how to best say it.

"You shouldn't settle for a friend with benefits," he said earnestly. "You deserve someone who loves you."

Her lips turned upward in a half-hearted smile, and she cocked her head in his direction.

"I hope I find someone who loves me as much as you love her," she decided. And with that, she disappeared into the house.

He smiled quietly to himself, looking back toward the sky. He did love her. He really, truly did.

And then, he found that for once he didn't care what Caleb's and Emily's advice was. He had to see her. And it had to be tonight.

It was less than twenty minutes before he was barreling up the steps to the loft, knocking firmly on the front door. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited with bated breath, hoping she was ready to see him.

He was just raising his fist to knock again when the door swung open. There she stood in all her otherworldly beauty, the illumination of the porch light dancing across her face. She pulled her robe shut tightly around her frame, looking as though she was struggling to keep her face impassive.

"Toby," she said quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," he breathed. "Can I come in? Please?"

There was a moment in which several emotions seemed to cross her face simultaneously. She was weighing the pros and cons, trying to decide if now was really the best time. Then at last, she stepped aside to allow him access.

He stepped quickly inside, turning to face her as she shut the door behind them. It occurred to him distantly that he had no idea what he wanted to say. He had only known that he positively had to see her.

"I kissed someone tonight," he stated excitedly.

It was only after he said it that he realized it came out completely wrong. She seemed to agree, for she furrowed her brow at him, crossing her arms impatiently.

"I mean, Hanna's Maid of Honor. She kissed me. And I hated it. I absolutely hated it."

Her face softened in slight, but she did not say anything.

"I know that's one of the things you were worried about," he explained. "You wanted me to be sure that I was done dating around. That you're the only person that I want."

She pursed her lips together tightly, as if to keep any and all incoming emotions at bay. He slowly moved toward her, sliding his hands across her hips and leaning his forehead against hers. He exhaled heavily, feeling considerably more at ease than he had all day. Than he even had at the peak of his buzz. This is what granted him true serenity. Nothing else could even compare.

"I love you," he said quietly. And this time it didn't even matter if she said it back. He just wanted to ensure that she heard it – really, truly heard it, no strings attached.

With some hesitation, she brushed her hands up the lengths of his arms, resting her delicate palms just above his shoulder blades. Her touch left an inexplicable tingle in its wake, and he had to fight to concentrate on what he wanted to say.

"You don't have to give me an answer now," he whispered. "I know there are all kinds of things on your mind. But I would never be able to sleep tonight if I didn't tell you what happened."

He could feel her nod against him. He slowly pulled back, pressing his lips to her forehead in a longing kiss. Her eyes fluttered quietly shut as she settled into this embrace, her hands squeezing his shoulders gently.

When he stepped back, he felt an inexplicable chill sweep through him. She seemed to experience something similar, for she visibly shivered and tightened her robe around her body once more.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow, okay?" he murmured. She nodded wordlessly.

He pulled the door open and, for the third time that day, felt the dull sting of leaving the one place he felt most at home.


End file.
